Face of Obedience
by keviana
Summary: A teenager wanders into NCIS Los Angeles headquarters, nervous and a little scared. Who let this kid in? More importantly, is she serious when she says that one of them is about to be taken out? Prepare for mystery, guns, and heightened heart rate. Unstable emotions and tears are a definite possibility. Buckle up and hang on. No Pairings. Trailer for this fic on YouTube.
1. A Random, Early Morning

Face of Obedience 

_**Summary: A 15-yr-old shows up at NCIS Headquarters to warn Sam that G is about to be gunned down at his new apartment.**____**No pairings.**_

_**Notes: I don't own NCIS: LA. If I did, then G would know what his name is.**_

CHAPTER 1 – A Random, Early Morning

6:35 A.M.

Special Agent Sam Hanna yawned quietly into his hand as he walked across the NCIS Headquarters dawn-lit floor towards the freshly made coffee. He was tired from having woken even earlier than normal to get to work long before Hetty, the Queen of the entire office and expert at early mornings, got there. She had asked pointedly for Sam's overdue expense report the night before. Sam had promised to get it in the next morning, to which Hetty and raised an eyebrow to and responded, "I will expect it at eight a. m. sharp, Mr. Hanna."

Sam poured his coffee slowly, being sure to not create a mess this early. There was something extremely wrong about spilling things at six-thirty that shouldn't be spilt prior to seven in the morning. _Maybe it's a Navy SEAL thing._ Sam half-smiled to himself, the right side of his mouth curving up. G was rubbing off on him for him to think that at himself so early. Sam nearly laughed. And it was never a good thing to be thinking about his Agent partner of three-and-a-half years this early, either. When had it even become a possibility? Sam sipped his hot coffee, enjoying the robust taste. It was manly coffee, for sure. It should be, since he had made it himself… while being barely coherent at six-fifteen. A SEAL thing- it _had_ to be, G would argue. The coffee and the spilling thing. His thoughts mulling over his partner stopped on the one event that changed Sam from being a normal partner to a protective one.

A protective partner. He knew that if he thought about it long enough, he would be able to hear the gunshots and G's shallow breathing as he yelled at him to stay with him. Time heals these things, Nate had assured him, but Sam didn't bet on it. He would still feel a rush of extra adrenaline in every gunfight they'd face, specifically there for protecting G- without G knowing it. Sam fought hard to keep it from becoming too obvious in the field. Special Agent in Charge G Callen would be quite annoyed if he ever realized how hard Sam worked to be sure he didn't get hurt. Sam stubbornly wished that G wouldn't ever get hurt again. The same wish. Over and over. _But not possible, Hanna._ Sam chided himself lightly. Nate had already made sure that Sam was extremely aware of the fact. It wasn't possible. It wasn't. Then again, Navy SEALs were known for making things that were impossible, possible. He assumed that was why he never quit trying. Sam sighed quietly, staring at the cement floor. G was such a magnet for trouble anyway, sometimes Sam wanted to throw his hands up in the air and walk away. It was ridiculous. In the field it was always a toss up. G's survival skills had come a long way, but he wasn't perfect. Wasn't invincible, no matter what G thought of himself.

Sam returned to his desk. It was covered with several yellow and white files. He sipped his coffee again. Forget G. He was looking at the last half of a mountain of paperwork that was such a monstrosity that it didn't leave much room for anything else in his brain. He sighed again, this time sounding annoyed to himself. Paperwork was how Hetty kept them in line, he was sure of it. Just like laps and pushups for Navy SEALs. For some reason, though, now the laps and pushups sounded better than the paperwork. Sam sat and applied himself to the stack again, feeling a renewed life come over him with the caffeine in the coffee. He worked for another ten minutes without stopping.

A few people trickled in, arriving early, probably to stay on Hetty Lange's good side. None of the basic team, however. When either G, Kensi, Nate, or Eric arrived, they were sure to see why Sam was up so early and what he was up to.

Ten more minutes of paperwork.

Soft footsteps came near him. They were a strange cross between the sound of Hetty's footsteps and Kensi's footsteps. Sam looked up, curious to see who the steps belonged to.

Five feet away from his desk was a brunette teenage girl, probably the age of thirteen or fourteen. She stood looking completely out-of-place, but certain in posture. She wore a white long-sleeved hoodie under a raspberry-pink t-shirt that boasted white cherry blossoms, matched with dark, denim jeans and raspberry-pink canvas shoes. Her white book bag was clean and hung on her left shoulder. She was harmless looking. She was staring at him, almost looking like she wanted to speak to him. Sam was a bit shocked. Since when had this girl been allowed in? Thinking through the NCIS employees, he didn't recall any of them having a young, teenage daughter. Or sister. Besides, it was forbidden to ever allow family to know where the Headquarters was located. Too dangerous.

Sam finally said what he was thinking beneath his initial thoughts of the girl: "Who are you?"

The girl asked back, "Are you… Sam?" Her voice was a strange teenager pitch, not too low, but not high-pitched, child-voice, either.

Not sensing any danger, Sam nodded. Thinking that perhaps this girl was, in fact, an employee's daughter, and she held a message for him, he asked, "Have we met?"

The girl shook her head once negatively. "No… uh… I'm supposed to tell you something."

Now Sam could tell the girl was nervous. And he was right; she did have a message for him. Probably someone who was out sick sent the girl because she was on her way to a nearby school. He smiled, trying to calm her, and stood and came around his desk to her.

"Okay. Tell me what you need to."

Dr. Nate Getz, Team Psychologist, came up behind them, finally arriving for the day. He paused when he saw the girl and Sam looking intently at each other.

The girl shifted a bit and said a bit rushed, "I'm supposed to tell you that G is about to be shot… in a drive-by, I think."

Sam's blood iced over in her words, disbelief, fear, and all sorts of other emotions pounding through him. He stared at her for a second, being sure that he had heard what he had just heard.

Nate came closer to them, looking worried.

Sam finally asked her darkly, "Who told you? Who told you to tell me that?"

The girl stared at him, surprisingly solidly. "God."

Sam straightened and met eyes briefly with Nate. His mind raced through possibilities of this being truth or a lie. Nate was clearly thinking similar things. Sam was about to ask her the same question again, hoping she would show that this was some sort of game, but she interrupted.

"Mr. Sam, do you believe in God?"

Sam answered quickly, "Of course."

The girl said softly, "Mr. Sam, please believe me. I didn't know your name until this morning. I have no idea where I am or what this place is. I don't even know what a G is!" The girl swallowed and then said firmly, "I gave you the message. Do what you need to. I promise I won't go anywhere until you are ready for me to leave." She moved her hands to hug herself. Waiting on him to decide whether to believe her or not.

Nate looked from the girl to Sam. He asked Sam quietly, "Where _is_ G?"

Sam looked at him and began to take his cell phone out of his pocket. "Not here." He said lowly. Sam dialed G's number. He stared at the girl as the phone rang. The girl watched him with dark brown eyes. One ring. Two rings. Three times. Four times. Five times. The standard message answered. Sam ended the call. He met Nate's eyes.

Nate shook his head once, indicated that he wasn't sure if the girl was telling the truth or not.

Sam had a small flashback of the tires screeching, gunshots ringing out, G's shallow breaths, the yelling… He couldn't take a chance, no matter how absurd or crazy. He moved to grab his jacket, and said to the girl who watched him intently. "Girl, you better be telling the truth, or we're going to have a come to Jesus session when I get back."

The girl's eyes widened. She nodded once, showing she understood perfectly.

"Watch her." Sam told Nate as he headed for the door. "And get Eric to activate G's cell and vehicle GPS the second he gets here!" Sam rushed to his car, a 2010 black Challenger RT. The adrenaline was already pounding in his veins. _Please be lying._ Sam thought at the girl.


	2. The New Apartment

CHAPTER 2 – The New Apartment

7:42 A.M.

Sam's Challenger rushed through the streets between the NCIS Headquarters and G's new apartment. Sam's thoughts racing as he drove and repeatedly hit speed-dial on his phone, calling G Callen's cell phone like there was no tomorrow. Sam was afraid there wouldn't be. The buff, dark-skinned Special Agent went through what he knew of G's new apartment. It was a two-story apartment set, G's unit on the ground-level floor. It was a one-bedroom, with space allocated for a nice living room and bathroom. The bedroom was small, but G hadn't seemed to mind.

_At least this one is in a better part of town,_ Sam told himself. He had pushed his partner to consider a nicer part of town after he had seen his last apartment choice. G had listened, after a lengthy defense of his apartment choices, citing that the carpet was too thick anyway. G had moved exactly one week ago. Sam couldn't understand how anyone would know where he was living—especially not the bad guys who would want G Callen dead. That fact brought a good deal of relief to Sam's panicked mind. But still, why wasn't G answering his phone?

Sam pulled up in front of G's new apartment and was relieved to find that no one else was in sight. Just regular, normal traffic driving past on the quiet street. G's car was still parked where it had been overnight, looking untouched. Everything seemed to be fine and calm. The ex-Navy SEAL knew that sometimes calm was a false pretense, bad things having occurred underneath or behind closed doors. This time, however, he was hoping that he was right, and that girl back at NCIS Headquarters was wrong.

Sam got out of his car and quickly moved to the apartment door. He knocked frantically, glancing in the front window. Everything in the living room looked exactly as it had when G had moved into the furnished apartment.

"G? G!" Sam called toward the door, listening for G's confused voice to answer him asking why he was at his apartment. After a few seconds of not hearing anything, not even anything stirring, Sam considered his options. He wasn't convinced that the situation called for a forth-right breaking down of the door, yet he didn't want to wait a second longer. G never took this long to answer his door. Sam hesitated one more moment, and, hearing nothing from within the apartment, pulled out his lock-pick tools.

The door was opened in less than ten seconds. Sam entered, calling out his partner's name again. He was surprised to find not a thing out of place. It was creepy, making Sam wonder if G had even been there at all. Sam called out again, not being able to help the concern in his voice, "G!" He walked through the living area toward the bedroom; door shut and silent.

A faraway voice finally answered, "Sam?" It was muffled, but it was G's voice. A few low thuds sounded, like something hitting against a wall.

Sam's breath caught and he hurried to the bedroom door and opened it, saying "G?" and readying himself to see anything. He wasn't prepared for the sight that met him. What little stuff G had was strewn everywhere: the lamps toppled, the two chairs overturned, the bed completely unmade and the mattress pushed to the side.

G Callen, clothed in his usual jeans and long-sleeved, dark blue t-shirt, sleeves pushed up a bit, emerged from the large closet, barefoot, holding one hand out to the side of him and looking surprised by Sam's appearance. G stopped in the in the doorway of the large closet, his eyebrow raised. "I'm not late for work yet." He said play-defensively, eyes tracking over his partner.

Sam let the breath he was holding go, happy to see G unharmed and in a some-what normal state. Sam replied with what was on his mind, "You didn't answer your phone!"

G's eyes danced left then right then nailed Sam as he leaned forward a bit and said, "It's in the kitchen. Where I left it when I went looking for a mouse trap." G brought his hand up and showed Sam a dead mouse that he was holding by its tail.

"A mouse." Sam said, not connecting the dots, but at least beginning to understand the huge mess the bedroom was in.

"Not just any mouse." G said in an annoyed tone, glaring at the dead creature. "Psycho Mouse. This thing kept me up all night, and then _refused_ to have the decency to die on the mousetrap like any other civilized mouse."

"Psycho Mouse." Sam repeated.

G nodded. "Psycho Mouse." G looked from the mouse to the state his new bedroom was in. He inhaled and exhaled, taking it in. "I've been chasing him all morning—"

"I see that." Sam offered.

"This little guy," G looked again at the dead mouse he held by its tail, "Dodges thrown objects better than you do."

"Debatable." Sam said lowly.

"Did you just break into my apartment?" G asked, locking his clear blue eyes on Sam, done discussing the Psycho Mouse and changing subjects at the high speed that didn't faze Sam anymore.

Sam crossed his arms. He waited a few seconds, wondering how G would react to the story. He pursed his lips. G didn't budge, waiting with his endless stubbornness. Sam nodded finally and motioned to the mouse. "Why don't you take care of Speedy there, and I'll tell you on the way to the office."

G stared at Sam for another moment, then exhaled silently and moved toward the doorway.

Sam let G by, muttering, "I'm putting your bed back together."

G continued out the door, throwing a flat "thanks" over his shoulder.

Sam walked over to the bed and easily moved the top mattress back on top of the bedsprings. As he put the lamps upright next, he added up the facts that Psycho Mouse and bedroom furniture toppled equaled the hard, cold answer of a G that was lacking on sleep. Callen was either going to find the "God" girl hilarious, or be rather annoyed. Normally, it was the laid-back G that was up an extra hour or two that found things funny, usually over a cup of Hetty's tea, and the exhausted G that had been up a full day or two that would lash out in pure annoyance. Either way, Sam was going to have to bear the brunt of it and he really wished he, himself, had had more sleep to deal with it… perhaps a week's worth. The joys of being an Agent with a partner. Rain or shine. Midnight or daylight. For better or worse.

Sam finished with righting the chairs and going back into the living area. He had heard G mess with plastic bags and then turn on the water in the sink, but now there was silence. Sam looked into the kitchen area.

G was leaning against the countertop next to the sink, checking his cell phone in the kitchen. Callen heard Sam walk past, and he glanced up at him, looking perplexed. "Twenty-four missed calls…" G pressed some buttons on his smart phone. "Seven messages." He looked up, the 'someone's-treating-me-like-I'm-shot-again' look on his face, and held his cell phone in a careless hand. "Care to explain?"

"Later." Sam grunted, moving deeper into the living room. "Are you ready to go?"

Callen pushed off of the countertop and headed to his bedroom. "Two minutes."

Sam's phone went off. Sam dug it out of his pocket and answered, "Yeah."

"It's Eric." The surfer-dude voice on the other side said. "I have Callen's phone and vehicle GPS activated and up on my screen."

Sam exhaled. "Thanks, Eric, but I found him. We're coming back to the office."

Eric's voice was puzzled, but merciful. "Okay. See you guys in a bit."

Sam hung up his phone, still wondering how this would go down with G when he explained. His only backup would be that Nate was his witness of what the girl had said. If he was lucky, this situation wouldn't have G calling him paranoid for a month.

G returned a few seconds later than his promised time, shoes on and cell phone and sun glasses in hand.

Sam replaced his phone in his pocket and dug for his keys in the other pocket.

Callen led the way to the door, opening it and taking a step out of it.

Sam's peripheral vision caught the shine on a vehicle quickly coming up the street, and a secondary, smaller shine on something that was way too familiar to those who'd been in combat. What the girl had said adding to the surge of adrenaline, Sam acted almost without thinking. "G!"

Sam reached forward with his right hand and took ahold of Callen's arm above the elbow. He violently jerked him back into the apartment, the angle of the pull bringing G down hard, his balance off-guard. Sam went down with him, just when the shooting started.

G went into gunfight survival mode upon hearing the shots, and used his momentum to pull his legs into the apartment.  
Sam felt G's movement and used an arm to push G onto his stomach and hold him to the floor. Callen responded tensely by staying flat.

The gunfire shattered the windows, and went high and low in trajectory for several long seconds, searching viciously for their target. Then the tires squealed and took off, leaving eerie silence behind.

Sam got up slowly, drawing his gun from his back holster, his heart pounding in his ears, and unconsciously leaving a hand on G's back to be certain he didn't move. He didn't hear anything outside. He stood, releasing G, and looked out the destroyed windows. The vehicle was out of sight. Sam moved out the front door and into the small yard to look down the street. The vehicle really was gone.

No witnesses around. _Was that vehicle a navy SUV?_ Sam searched his mind for the correct description. Footsteps behind Sam caused him to look back to the doorway.

G stood looking at the destruction around them with a look on his face that showed his unease. Callen looked up and met Sam's dark eyes. The flash of uncertainty that passed within G's eyes alluded to the memories surfacing of the last time he'd been in a successful drive-by. The question was apparent: _Who knew this was my apartment?  
_

Sam glanced back down the street. He exhaled as his heart pumped. The girl had been right. And he was wrong. _How?_


	3. Puzzle Through Hot Topic

[A Note from the Authoress: This chapter has some Christian thoughts in it. Please do not be offended. I could've used a psychic or a New Ager base for Joy, but I thought it would be more interesting to do things this way. You will not miss anything to skip to Chapter 4. Joy's history is discussed in this chapter, as well as the reason behind her actions.]

CHAPTER 3 – Puzzle Through Hot Topic

7:15 A.M.

Nate was enjoying himself. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to talk to a smart, 15-year-old girl. And the girl had perfect manners.

After Sam had left, Nate had taken her to the lower floor sitting area, complete with a dark brown leather couch and armchair. He encouraged her to sit on the couch, and he sat in the armchair. This was already shaping up to be an interesting morning, so he had decided not to resist it. He would get to know the girl, just in case she spent the entire day with them.

The girl had visibly relaxed a bit after Sam had left to check on Callen. Obviously, she believed every word of what she had told them. Her physical posture screamed it.

One she had sat down, Nate realized that it was early in the morning and chided himself on _his_ manners. He asked her, "Would you like something to drink, Miss ---?"

"Joy Garcia." She answered easily. "No, thank you."

Nate nodded. _Ah. That explains the eyes, hair, and skin._ He had noticed that the girl had a few exotic features, and her skin was slightly tanned. The last name matched it all. Still curious about how this girl came to find the NCIS Headquarters, he began the normal barrage of information questions he would give anyone, at a simple, laid-back pace: "So, what school do you go to?"

The girl, Joy, took her bag off and laid it on the couch beside her, settling in. She replied just as simply, "I'm homeschooled."

"Really?" _That explains her politeness._ Nate felt like he needed to further soften the conversation before asking more questions. He gestured with his right hand at her white messenger bag. "That's a nice bag."

"Thank you." Joy said, glancing nonchalantly at her bag. "Hot Topic. On sale."

"Hot Topic." He repeated, nodding. "Cool."

She nodded, a small smile gracing her lips, showing that she thought so, too.

Nate felt it was okay to continue with the questions he needed answers to. "So, your parents… won't they be looking for you?"

Joy shook her head. "My dad's in Asia for business. He will be back in twelve days. I'll be able to talk to him in two… His cell doesn't work in certain areas over there..." Joy trained her brown eyes on Nate's blue ones. "Mom is in heaven."

Nate took in what she said and then offered, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Joy said giving Nate a small smile. "She's not in pain anymore. Don't worry about it."

_Hard life experiences._ Nate mulled. This girl was turning out to be more interesting than he had originally thought. "What does your dad do?"

"He's a doctor who specializes in autoimmune diseases… He's pretty famous in his field. And lately doctors in different countries have been asking him to come and give his expertise and stuff."

_Probably very wealthy._ Nate added to the equation. "Does he leave you alone often?" He asked, watching for signs of resentment or regret or depression.

The girl shrugged, looking down at her shoes. "Not often." She said. Meeting Nate's eyes again, she explained, "He tries to only make four trips a year. He refuses to be gone for longer than two weeks."

Nate rested his chin in his right hand, elbow on the armchair arm, covering his lips slightly with his fingers: his thinking position. "So, who watches you when he leaves?"

Joy thought about for a few seconds, before saying, "I guess no one. But the maid comes three times a week. The grocery guy comes once a week… I walk to my neighbor's house for guitar lessons twice a week. I have church four times a week, too… I get a ride for that… and sometimes I spend the night with Zoe on Friday or Saturday… When her family isn't out of town…"

"Is Zoe a friend from church?"

Joy nodded. "Yes. We've been friends since we were two."

"Whoa. Long time… Right? How old are you?" Nate asked.

"Fifteen."

Nate scratched his head with his right hand. "So, who do you call if there's an emergency, Joy? I mean, while your father is away?"

"My youth pastor. And then my grandmother. She lives in Napa, but she's rich, so she would get on her plane and get here quick." Joy said, suddenly raising her eyes to look at someone behind Nate.

Nate turned and found Eric standing about five feet behind them, watching them curiously. Eric was wearing his traditional flip-flops (that would get him on Hetty's bad side) and long, olive green shorts and a Hawaiian shirt that matched, his black messenger bag diagonally over his chest, hand holding the strap. Nate stood, asking Joy to excuse him for a second, and walked over to Eric.

Eric used the hand holding the bag to point toward the girl, still holding onto the strap with his thumb. He looked quizzically at Nate.

Nate glanced back, finding Joy was moving to open her bag to find something.

He watched her until she withdrew a water bottle, then he looked back at Eric. "Long story." He answered, exhaling. He glanced at his watch. 7:50 A.M. Sam would be at Callen's apartment any moment. Nate met Eric's gaze. "Sam said for you to activate Callen's cell and vehicle GPS as soon as you got here."

Eric raised his eyebrows. Slowly, he nodded. Turning and heading up to his work area in the Eagle's Nest, he said, "I'm on it."

Nate nodded.

"Who is our guest, Mr. Getz?"

Nate jumped and turned to find Hetty Lange behind him staring at the teenager in their sitting area. He took a breath, recovering his calm, and answered her, "That is Joy Garcia. She came this morning to warn Sam that someone was going to try to gun down Callen in a drive-by."

Hetty turned to zero her dark eyes on Nate, her glasses just adding to the effect. "I hope she's joking."

Nate found himself wanting to take a step back from her, but limited himself to half-a-step. "Uh, no…" He unconsciously leaned his torso to the left, as he usually did when he was uncomfortable. "She is… actually serious… and, uh, Callen wasn't an-answering his phone…"

Hetty's eyes narrowed. "Where is Mr. Hanna?"

"He left to find Callen. He went to his apartment… We haven't heard back from him." Nate said, hoping they had all acted in a way Hetty would be okay with. An angry Hetty would do nothing more than put everyone on edge for the entire day.

Hetty nodded once. "Mr. Beale?"

Nate glanced up toward the Eagle's Nest before saying, "He just got here. He's activating Callen's cell and vehicle GPS."

Hetty nodded, looking down, satisfied for the moment. She said calmly, "Don't let the girl leave until we understand just what is going on here. Have Miss Blye help you when she gets here."

Nate nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

Hetty looked at him through her glasses and said in addition, "A subject analysis, Nate."

"Yes, Hetty. Ma'am. In progress now. " Nate said.

Hetty pursed her lips, nodded, turned and walked toward her office area.

Nate returned to the sitting area where Joy was holding her water bottle and staring at the far wall. He could tell she was lost in her thoughts. He sat down, and she came back, looking at him. He smiled at her. She didn't smile back. She looked down at her hands. Nate realized then that she was worried. The worry was either from fear of being found out, or from actually being concerned that G would be shot. The Psychologist started focusing on determining if she was telling the truth or not. He asked quietly, sounding as much like a friend as he could, "Joy, what is your father's name?"

Joy answered, looking at him again, "Daniel Garcia."

Nate nodded. The simple fact that she didn't seem embarrassed or worried when she said her father's name was worth several points toward the argument that she was, in fact, telling the truth. _Interesting._ Nate broached the question next that he was really curious to hear the answer to. "Joy, can you tell me what happened to bring you here?"

The girl nodded. "My youth pastor talked to us last Sunday about being obedient to God, and how sometimes we do things our own way instead of God's way because it's easier… and safer. No risks. Like that." Joy looked at her hands and then looked up again. "I decided that I didn't want to be like that. So, I made up my mind to do what God told me to do, no matter what… that is, if God would be sure to let me know it was Him." She breathed in and out. "This morning, I woke up to do my Bible reading, and I heard a big voice telling me to listen very closely. It had to be God… it was filling up my head and my heart at the same time. He told me, 'This morning G is going to be shot.' Whenever I heard that, in my mind I saw a dark SUV driving slowly and a gun being shot out its window. Then He said, 'Go to Sam and tell him.'" Joy shrugged, a small smile on her lips. "I don't know a single Sam. And I couldn't figure out what a 'G' was. So I thought I was off the hook. God was like, 'Nuh-uh. I will lead you to Sam.'" Joy started absently moving her feet to mess with the coffee table, a sign to Nate that she was slightly uncomfortable with what she was telling him. "When I left the house, God told me which bus to get on, when to get off, which direction to walk, which people to avoid, and how far to go… I had just given up that maybe I wasn't listening to God and that maybe I was going nuts, when He told me to stop. He then told me to cross the street and that was the building. I did, and then I saw the city paper on the door." Joy let out a half-laugh. "I told God I couldn't go in there, that it was condemned. He told me to open the door. If I hadn't been so sure that it was God, I would've listened to my logic and left and gone back home." She sighed. "But I was sure, so I opened the door and came in. I was freaking out, but I felt like I needed to walk in and see if there was a Sam around." She met Nate's eyes and smiled. "Sam was the first person I found." Then her eyes became confused. "But I still don't understand where I am."

Nate nodded, the picture coming together for him. She was telling him the truth as she saw it. It was a remarkable situation. She had not only found the NCIS Headquarters on her own, but also had the real names of two Special Agents. _Well, God _would_ know all that…_ Nate realized that this girl had been in his company for nearly an hour and she didn't even know his name! She was just trusting that she was safe. That impressed him. The Psychologist smiled softly at her. "Thank you for telling me, Joy. I appreciate your honesty."

Joy nodded.

A whistle split the air, causing Nate and Joy to turn around and look up at the hallway outside of Eagle's Nest, where Eric stood over the second-floor railing with his data pad. Out of the corner of his eye, Nate saw the newly-arrived Kensi entering and looking up, and Hetty coming out from her office area.

"There was a drive-by shooting at Callen's apartment!" Eric called, sounding agitated. "Sam thinks Callen was the target!"


	4. Bring It Together

CHAPTER 4 – Bring It Together

8:05 A.M.

Sam listened on his cell phone as Eric called out. He immediately chided Eric, "Make sure they know we're fine, Eric."

Eric's voice submissively followed orders, adding to what he had yelled, "They're fine."

Sam could almost see Eric's eyes track back and forth like a cat measuring his options, before darting back into Eagle's Nest, where he knew he was safe. Sam almost allowed himself a grin. Almost. It wouldn't have been the best idea since G was not in an agreeable mood. In fact, Special Agent in Charge G Callen was currently the strangest mixture of angry, impatient, and annoyed. Sam could tell since G was actually glaring at his new bullet-riddled porch and living room. _Pretty sure he's not thinking about getting his deposit back..._

At that moment, G, fists on his hips, turned slightly toward Sam and said quickly using his "in control" voice, "Does Eric have traffic cams? License plates? And, what about LAPD ETA?"

Sam glanced heavenward, and passed along the questions: "Eric, we need any traffic cams and an ETA on the cops. I think we're looking at for a navy SUV."

"A neighbor down the street just called you in." Eric told him. "ETA less than four minutes."

"Traffic cams?" Sam asked.

"Two. One on both the far entrance and near exit of Callen's street. Accessing now." Eric said, sounding preoccupied as he worked.

Sam took a few steps away from Callen to check over his and Callen's cars as he waited on Eric. He found bullet holes on Callen's silver Impala, but didn't see any on his. He glanced back at G who was still looking at the front of his apartment. Sam realized then that though G was _acting_ like he was in control, he was actually feeling slightly out-of-control—he usually followed Sam around when they were on the phone with Eric, so as not to miss anything. The fact that he hadn't, told Sam that G had barriers up to protect himself, whether he knew it or not. Sam made a mental note to be sure that G didn't become too unlike his usual self. If he did, a session with Nate was coming. "G!" Sam called him. When Callen turned to look at him, he said, "Let's go. LAPD has been dispatched."

Callen didn't verbally respond, instead he went back into the house to grab his keys and sunglasses. He emerged in less than a minute and got into Sam's Challenger.

Sam was already in the driver's seat, starting the vehicle. Sam put Eric on speakerphone and handed the phone to G as he pulled the black car onto the road, going in the direction of the shooter.

Eric's voice returned. "A traffic cam caught exit of the vehicle, but not the entrance. Seems that camera was off-line. No plates, and no visual of the driver or passenger."

"Make and model, Eric?" G asked, voice not happy. Sam heard the weariness in it, too. That Psycho Mouse hadn't helped.

"Chevy Tahoe. Looks like a '08-'09 model. Dark blue. No other distinguishing marks." Eric replied.

"Are you tracking it?" Sam asked.

"Trying to." Eric responded. "I'll know in a few minutes."

Kensi's voice sounded over the speakerphone, "Callen, who knew you had moved besides us?"

"No one." G said, shaking his head, tracing his steps for the past week in his mind. "Standard security measures in the move-"

"Extreme security measures, you mean." Sam threw in, knowing how particularly careful his partner had become after being shot eight months prior.

"Perhaps that is the incorrect question." Hetty's voice came in over the speakerphone. Everyone became silent to listen. "Who had access to any information about Callen whatsoever?"

A few seconds of silence spread. Once again, Hetty brought a side of the equation that needed to be addressed.

G suddenly turned to Sam and stared at him, a calculating look on his face.

Sam glanced over and saw the equations coming together in G's mind.

G finally said accusingly, "You _knew_."

Sam hurriedly reached over and put the cell phone on hold. That tone meant Callen was possibly about to get loud. Sam began, "G—"

G interrupted him. "Sam, you _knew_ the drive by was going to happen. That's why you broke into my apartment. How did you know?"

Sam glanced over to Callen, who was staring at him, the "annoyed I'm not in the loop" look on his face. Sam held his peace, waiting. If he spoke, Callen was still in retort mode, and any attempt at facts would end with interruptions. The ex-SEAL needed a break in _that_ wall to appear before he attempted to explain.

Callen knew that, for he took a breath and looked out the window as he breathed it out in annoyance. A beat passed. He finally added harshly, "Anything you want to share, Sam?"

Sam was ready. "Alright."

G looked back at him.

"So this teenage girl shows up at Headquarters this morning and tells me that you're about to be shot in a drive-by. Tells me God told her to come tell me-"

"Right." G shook his head, looking away.

"—and because of her, I got here in time to save you... Again."

G looked back at him, looking ready to let loose a long set of sentences of biting words in his tiredness, probably in the genre of listening to teenage girls who have supposedly heard from God.

Sam held up a hand. "You didn't answer your phone. What was I supposed to think?"

Callen seemed to lose some of his annoyance with that. When he next spoke, there was much less frustration in his voice. "The girl?"

Sam nodded. "Showed up at six-thirty by herself. Nate is with her now, and she won't be released until we get to the bottom of this, so…" Sam looked over at Callen.

Callen squinted at him. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Sam exhaled, and told him the bitter truth: "I didn't believe her."

G waited a moment. Then he asked, "Then why did you come?" The wall in his voice was finally gone; all that was left was the true voice of Callen not understanding.

Sam looked over at him and then back at the road. "I had to be sure."

Silence filled the car.

"Uh… Guys?" Eric's voice said from the phone. Eric knew they could hear him only while he was on hold. His voice sounded like he knew he was interrupting a heavy discussion.

G took the phone off of hold. "Yeah, Eric. Go ahead."

"I found the vehicles."

Callen and Sam traded a look.

G repeated, "Vehicles?"

"Correct. I tracked the SUV to a traffic cam dead area. When it came out of it, there were _two_ plateless, navy Tahoes." Eric paused. "And, they've split up."

After Callen had a moment to process, he said, "Track them both. And do whatever you need to do to get a clear view of the drivers."

"Working on it." Came Eric's reply.

"This is beginning to look real planned out, guys." Kensi said lowly. "Do you want me to take my car and track one? I can take Nate."

Hetty's voice interrupted, "No, you may not take Nate." There was a pause. "Nate is staying with our guest. You are to be staying here, as well, Miss Blye."

"Guest?" Callen repeated with a few hints of disbelief in his tone. That girl was a suspect. She had known, so she was involved somehow.

"Yes, Mr. Callen." Hetty said, in her chiding tone. "Anyone who saves the life of one of my agents, no matter how odd the means, is a guest in my book—at least until proven part of the original plot. Now," Hetty continued, taking charge. "Mr. Beale, have the LAPD meet that secondary Tahoe wherever it stops. Guide Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna after that first Tahoe. And, Callen?" Hetty paused for emphasis. "Go get them."

G looked over at Sam, the original Callen intensity filling his eyes like a steady flame, any uncertainty gone. He was focused on the case now with every fiber of his being.

Sam echoed the sentiment with his half-grin. Whoever thought it was cake to take out a NCIS Special Agent was about to find out the truth.

* * *

[Authoress Notes:

What is a "deposit"? In the states, when renting an apartment, it is common to give a large amount of money prior to moving in to protect the lender from such instances when you break something on their property. (Or set the kitchen drapes on fire, etc.)

What does "ETA" stand for? A common military expression. It stands for "Estimated Time of Arrival."]


	5. Nonsense Makes Sense

CHAPTER 5 – Nonsense Makes Sense

9:38 A.M.

Eric guided Sam and Callen by cell phone through the streets of the Los Angeles area. The blue Tahoe eventually came to a stop in San Bernardino, in an area of old warehouses. Eric wasn't sure exactly which building the SUV had gone into, because there were no cameras in this area. Satellite had shown the third warehouse from the end, so that's what he told the two agents. Satellite also showed there was no one around on the outside of the buildings.

"Well," Eric shrugged, staring up at the huge screen from his seat in Eagle's Nest. "At least we can see him when he exits the building." A movement at his side caused Eric look back and up to see Kensi looking at him, devoid of expression. He thought quickly, then added, "Or her."

Kensi gave him half a smile and crossed her arms.

Hetty pointed at the screen at two vehicles that were parked down in the corner. "These may be get-away vehicles. Make sure Callen tags them before going in."

Eric nodded. "Hecho, Senorita." He said lightly, turning to focus on the screen.

"Go raibh maith agat." Hetty replied, easily.

Kensi's eyebrows came together as she wondered what had just happened. She knew that Eric had just said "done, Miss" in Spanish, but what had Hetty just said? That didn't sound like Latin…

"Gaelic, Miss Blye." Hetty said, still staring at the screen. Then she was silent.

Kensi though about it, and made the connection quickly. Gaelic was another ancient language that was difficult to learn. Like Latin, Gaelic was still taught and learned. It was still used in Ireland to this day. And, it looked like Hetty had learned it. Kensi glanced to the ground once, thinking to herself, _What's with Hetty and these languages? _Just one more thing that made Hetty, Hetty.

Eric caught Kensi's eye and did his quick, minute head tilt, showing he hadn't caught or understood what she'd said either, then focused back on the screen.

* * *

"Hetty says to tag those cars before you go in, gents." Eric said over Sam's speakerphone.

G looked over his shoulder and out the rear windows of the Challenger that he and Sam still sat in. "Consider them tagged." G murmured, taking note of the Make and Model of both vehicles.

"Hmm. That one is plateless." Sam said quietly, referring to the vehicle on the left of the two.

"My money is on that one being the second getaway vehicle." G said, equally as quietly.

"We may have a winner." Sam said, opening his door and hanging up his phone and pocketing it.

The Challenger was parked ten feet outside of the front door of the building with a single entrance. It had been fifteen minutes since the vehicle had pulled into the building. Eric had reported that no one had come out. Hetty had told Eric to dispatch backup, and then told Callen it was his choice to wait or engage. Callen had traded a look with Sam before choosing the latter.

Hetty hadn't protested.

G opened his door, and stepped out, drawing his gun from his back holster. He approached the building, with Sam stepping up behind him. G took his place to the side of the grey, metal door, and Sam took his place directly in front of the door.

Callen tested the door knob quietly and found it unlocked. He looked back to Sam.

Sam nodded he was ready. That meant they were go for a count. Sam's counting and G's counting were completely different. Sam's was always timed perfectly, a "3…2…1… Boom" that Sam indicated with his fingers. G's method was always a nod in Sam's direction, then a quick, silent "1, 2, Go". Sam accepted that he would never be able to teach Callen to count like he did. He just accepted it, the same way he accepted G's annoying stubbornness. And G didn't care either way. He had always counted the way he did, and anyone who didn't follow along was an idiot… like that CIA Agent in Afghanistan that had waited for Callen's "3" that never came, putting Callen and two others in jeopardy. Sam had been one of the only ones that had successfully gotten over the "G" way of doing things. One of the many reasons he and G had been partners for three long years. Sam coped with humor. Others, the ones that didn't matter, with anger.

Callen nodded.

Sam started counting in his head: 1, 2, Go!

Callen opened the door the moment Sam got to "Go!" and went in tracking left, Sam filling in the forward/right.

It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the building. Looking around with what light they had, they saw the SUV, abandoned, in the center of the no-walls building. It was like a warehouse on the inside. No one around, and no sounds, just stale air.

G didn't trust that they were alone, until tracking all the way to the far left wall and approaching the vehicle while Sam tracked the right wall and came toward the SUV. Callen lowered his gun in slight annoyance. He tried to open the vehicle. It was locked. He looked over at Sam as he took a step back.

"No driver. Locked SUV." G said.

"Nice." Sam said lowly. He couldn't help the half-grin in the midst of danger. "Someone must've told him how you drive."

G ignored the obvious hit at his failure to pass the recent driving exam and stared at the walls in the building. He looked thoughtful as he took a few steps toward the back of the building.

"No exits except the front door… No driver." Callen said lowly to himself. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Eric," He said, not even allowing for a greeting. "Did anyone come out yet?"

"Nope." Eric's voice replied.

"Can you get the schematics for this building? There must be a hiding spot somewhere that we don't know about."

"On it." Eric said.

Callen murmured, "Thanks." He ended the phone call and pocketed his phone.

"Someone really doesn't want us to find them." Sam remarked, checking the back of the plateless SUV.

"Someone who wants me dead…" G trailed off. A few seconds went by, then Callen added, "But why send the girl?"

Sam looked at G. He knew what he was thinking: the girl was a part of this somehow. Sam didn't believe that. He had seen her eyes and realized that she wasn't dangerous—that included carrying out someone else's dirty work. He didn't have to explain that to G, though. The great thing about how thorough a detective G was shone in his ability to get to the truth and then adapt to it. He never went quickly, though.

"Call Nate." Callen said, holstering his gun. "Tell him to search anything the girl has with her. And get him to dig and find out what she knows."

Sam knew better than to argue. G Callen wanted answers. Sam would assist in getting those answers. As Sam dialed Nate on his cell, he realized that he, himself, wanted to get his hands on the ones responsible for targeting his partner.

* * *

Nate answered his phone.

Nate got up from his seat and walked a few steps away from the teenage girl as he listened to Sam.

"We didn't find anything, Nate. Just the SUV." Sam told him. "The person driving seems to have slipped away. G wants you to check the girl's things and find out how much she knows."

Nate looked at the girl, who was watching him quietly from the couch, and smiled ruefully at her. He knew it needed to be done, and he doubted she would hold it against him, but he couldn't help feeling like he was slightly betraying a new friend. "Okay, Sam."

Sam sounded like he was listening for a few moments, then he added, "G thinks that she knows more than she's telling, and he says for you to get the information, 'cause if you don't…" Sam trailed off.

Nate nodded once, to himself. "I understand what you're saying." He said quietly.

Suddenly, Joy's eyes became panicked and she sat upright on the couch. "Sam needs to get out of there." She said breathlessly.

Nate paused, he could feel the instant change from her easy air to the panic. "What?" He asked her, now paying attention to her carefully.

Sam must've heard her over the phone, because he asked, "What'd she say?"

Joy looked like she was about to cry, she raised her voice, "They need to get out of there, NOW!" She stood and crossed the two yards to Nate's side. "Tell them! Tell them to get out NOW!"

* * *

Sam didn't understand why he was acting before logically pondering what he was doing, but he yelled a warning at G, who was looking at the front of the SUV: "G!"

G heard the alarm in Sam's voice and didn't think, he just followed Sam at a full-sprint away from the SUV toward the door of the building.

Just then, they were pushed forward by a huge explosion. G and Sam landed at a heap next to the door of the building, ears ringing and disoriented, feeling heat and pain.

Sam had been exposed to more flash-bangs in his career than Callen, so he gathered himself faster. He dragged his partner out the door, Callen helping a little, though not together yet. He didn't release G or himself to collapse again on the ground until they were next to the car. Sam looked back at the building, ears still ringing, and realized that the building was going down. He watched in horror as the doorway they had just exited was destroyed by several slabs of concrete falling. Following that, the rest of the building fell apart like candy.

G was trying to get up into the sitting position, breathing hard. His eyes fell on the destruction and he soaked it in for a few moments. He turned to look at his partner, his eyes held a look of dark surprise. Sam had seen the look several times before; it asked why they had just lived when they should have died.


	6. The Choices We Make

CHAPTER 6 – The Choices We Make

10:01 A.M.

G tried to catch his breath. It was hard, since the flames and destruction in front of him were mocking him that he should be in the midst of them. It was a surreal moment. He had had many surreal moments in his life, the loudest being when he had been shot eight months prior. This time, however, the feeling was overriding even the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head. The headache had been there since before. He usually had a slight one after a late night or a night with zero sleep. But, now, it was worse. It was downright painful. G kept staring at what should've been his second death in one day. His controlled world seemed to stop for this moment: the moment of the destruction taunting him. He _still_ couldn't catch his breath—an annoying fact he was ignoring. He gazed into the smoke and flames, breathing hard, and thought the only thing he could. _Stupid mouse._ At least without the mouse, he might've had more than an hour of sleep. And with sleep, he could be processing this better instead of feeling so lost. And maybe breathe. Maybe.

There was movement by his side. "You okay?" Sam's voice asked above the ringing in his ears and the constant background sound of the flames.

_No._ "Yeah. Fine." Callen breathed out, working harder to control the surreal feeling, his thoughts, and his lungs. He didn't want Sam to see that what just happened had gotten under his skin.

More movement at his side. Sam was touching him. His leg. It hurt.

"Ow!" G jumped slightly, the surreal feeling dissipating in the sudden pain. The annoying ringing sound stayed, making his cry sound hollow to his ears. He tried to move his leg away from Sam. Looking down, G realized his right leg was bleeding. Judging from the pain focus, Callen knew that the cut was a few inches below his right knee on the back of his leg. _Great._ Blood always equaled something not fun. Usually Hetty's first aid antics; if not something far worse.

"Not fine." Sam said, sounding concerned. "That's more than a scratch, G."

G moved himself to bring his hands up and check the wound himself. Moving the lower part of his torn, dark denim jeans, and working to ignore the new, stabbing pain, Callen was able to see that he had a gash that looked a few inches long on the back of his leg. It was bleeding pretty good, so he wasn't completely certain how deep the wound was. G took a breath and pushed his palm up against the large cut to stop the blood flow, using his other hand to hold the front of his leg. It stung more. Callen sighed, more annoyed and tired than anything else, and looked at Sam.

Sam had seen everything, and was now trying to locate his cell phone, obviously wanting to call for medical assistance. Sam patted all his pockets and frowned harder and harder.

"Loose something?" G asked, deadpan.

Sam began looking around them on the pavement. "My phone…" At that point, Sam looked back at Callen. He saw the humorous sparkle in G's blue eyes and shook his head slowly. G was thinking that no phone equaled no medical assistance call, which equaled out to a nice dodge of doctors and needles. "Nu-huh. You're not getting out of this one." The ex-NAVY Seal said, cautioning. "If God went to all that trouble to save your skinny ass, we're not going to disrespect Him by letting you die from this."

G shrugged, faking not being worried, believably. "The last place I saw your phone was in there." He said nodding his head toward the destroyed building.

Sam reached forward and started digging at Callen's left jean pocket. "Last place I saw _your_ phone was…" Sam trailed off.

"Hey!" G protested. He pulled away from Sam. "Off limits!"

Sam pulled back and pointed towards G's pocketed phone. "Cut it out, G. You're injured. Give me the phone."

G exhaled, a bit shakily from the adrenaline that was coursing through his body, and used his free hand to find his iPhone in his pocket and handed it to Sam. "I hate being injured." Callen muttered, looking away, purposefully avoiding looking at the burning building anymore. As Sam was unlocking the phone, G asked, squinting into the distance. "Hey, are your ears still ringing?"

Sam responded, "Yeah. Explosion repercussion. Can last up to a day."

"Nice." G murmured.

Just then, G's iPhone rang in Sam's hand. Callen looked back as Sam answered it, putting it on speakerphone: "Yeah."

Eric's voice came through clearly, but was partially drowned out for both of the Agents due to the burning sound and their ears' condition. "Sam, what just happened?"

Sam answered, "The SUV just blew up, I think. The building came down right after we got out."

Hetty's voice came next. "Are you or Agent Callen injured, Mr. Hanna?"

Sam glanced at G, who was narrowing his eyes at him, before answering. "Yeah. I'm fine, but G's leg has a two-inch gash and is bleeding pretty good."

G interrupted, "A _small_ gash, Hetty. And it's not bleeding anymore."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Callen," Hetty responded, not allowing any argument. "EMS is on its way. Cooperate with them."

G didn't respond but to send Sam his own personal brand of death glare.

Sam couldn't help but grin for a moment, acknowledging that, yes, he just betrayed Callen, before changing the subject, "What happened with the other SUV, Eric?"

"Funny you should mention that." Eric's voice said. "Just a second ago an EMS was dispatched to that location. Seems that one exploded, too."

Sam snorted. "Nice." He looked at G who was staring at the phone.

G felt Sam's dark brown eyes on him. He looked at Sam and sent the message without saying a thing: _Rigged so they would kill me no matter which one I followed._

Sam nodded once, letting him know that he was on the same page.

Callen asked, "Has Nate found out anything else from the girl?"

Kensi answered this time. "We haven't had time to check. We were too concerned in finding out if you two were okay."

Sam broke in, "Hey, make sure the kid knows we're okay. They probably heard the explosion on my phone."

G looked at Sam, eyes betraying his disbelief at his partner's concern for the girl. Sam caught the look and briefly wondered what G would think once he found out that if it wasn't for the girl, they'd be toast.

There was a moment of hesitation, and then Hetty spoke. "I will do it. And, Sam?"

"Ma'am?" Sam said.

"Don't let Callen give the EMS the slip." Hetty said lowly, not joking in any way.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Sam answered. Beside Sam, G breathed out his lips a short 'phhh', making his "I can't stand this", semi-disgusted sound. Sam let it go. _The boy is low on sleep,_ He reminded himself. He could always address G's attitude problems later.

Kensi's voice floated over the speakerphone: "How did you find the bomb, you two?"

G answered easily, "We didn't." He looked over at Sam. And, at that moment, it hit him that Sam had yelled a warning to run. He parted his lips, as if to speak, but just narrowed his eyes at Sam. He asked with the look: _How DID you know?_

Sam decided the direct answer was the best answer for the whole team. "I was talking to Nate, about the girl, and then I heard her in the background. She was yelling, telling Nate to tell us to get out of the building. I yelled at G, we ran… Boom. History."

Sam watched Callen for his reaction. But G was silent. His expression was suddenly his poker face, betraying nothing. Sam realized he was processing. G Callen didn't know what to think.

"Geez," Kensi muttered. "If this girl is a part of this, she's not helping those who sent her much…"

Eric added, "She's like a… younger… backwards… version of Abby Sciuto." There was a pause, and then he speeded on to explain: "You know, predicting how deaths will happen instead of solving them. But, at least, she can, you know, say something—"

"Eric." Kensi and Sam said at the same time.

"Sorry." Eric responded, sounding contrite. He then said, "ETA on the ambulance is five minutes, guys. And, fire trucks should be right behind them."

"Great." Sam said sarcastically. Once the EMS arrived, it would be like pulling teeth to get G to behave and cooperate quietly. And then, once G became cooperative, he would do that sullen, picked-on, hating-this thing with his eyes that Sam had seen too many times in the past. THAT was the part that Sam dreaded. Callen just plain did not do doctors or needles well. At all. Sam had decided back when the successful drive-by shooting had occurred—the one that left G fighting for his life for months—that G's patheticness with anything medical was due to the lack of a mother. The zero mothering thing as a kid had left G lacking in more than a few areas. And somehow, over the course of their partnership, Sam had become some weird, unspoken, manly, "mom" stand-in. Sam didn't see himself as having any maternal instincts whatsoever, yet he knew that he was better than nothing. That was why he had "helped" his partner through his injuries—all eight-bajillion of them—and would continue to do so. It was also why Sam voiced concerns and thoughts when the situation required. Like letting Callen know when he was being an idiot. _SEAL thing, weird mom stand-in thing, or protective partner thing, this is nuts. G is going to be the end of me. _Sam sighed, quieted his thoughts, and looked back at G.

Callen was looking at his hands holding onto his leg. The bleeding had definitely slowed. G still had his mask intact, hiding what he was thinking from his partner. Sam wouldn't pry, either. He would just make sure that G was good for now. He'd leave the prying to Nate. That was always safest when dealing with G.

Just then, Eric gave a low whistle. "Hey, guys?" He said slowly. "I think… Oh, wow." The sound of frantic keyboard typing was heard.

"What is it, Eric?" Kensi's voice asked, sounding concerned.

"I just went blind!" Eric exclaimed, sounding impressed.

"Blind?" G repeated.

"The satellite has been rebooted or something else standard like that." Eric explained. "All I have is a still of the last moment it was online. I can't see you guys at all. It's saying that the satellite is unavailable. Um… This could take a few minutes."

"Call us back when you get it back." Sam told him, okay with a few minutes to discuss the situation with his partner before the EMS arrived.

"K." Eric said. The phone hung up.

"So." Sam said.

"So." G echoed.

"Who would have information about where you live _and_ be able to rig a couple of SUVs to blow?"

G shook his head, remaining silent.

"And, there are at least two of them." Sam added.

Just then, a faint "thunk" made Sam look around; G looking both ways, as well. Sam realized that a person in a black ski mask had just shut the door on the plateless car that they had tagged before.

"You are kiddin' me!" Sam yelled, jumping up and taking off at a sprint, pulling out his gun.

The vehicle had already spun its wheels and begun to take off down the road. Sam checked for anyone around and then released four shots at the vehicle's tires. He hit hubcaps twice and missed twice. The vehicle turned the corner and continued off.

Sam, annoyed, turned to go back to G, surprised to see him standing and getting into the Challenger passenger seat. Sam ran to the car. He opened the driver's side and asked loudly, "G, what're you doing!?"

"We're going after him!" Callen replied, urgency in his voice.

"No, we're not!" Sam began, steeling himself for a fight. "Hetty said—"

"Hetty thought we were out of leads!" G argued, exasperation in his eyes. "Sam, you know I'm right! Get me the first-aid kit from the trunk! I'll bandage it and you can take me in later. Come on—let's go!"

It took only two seconds for Sam to give in, the fear of Hetty becoming momentarily lost. He quickly retrieved the first aid kit and jumped into the driver's seat and shifted the car into high gear, tires squealing. Sam drove the car in the direction of the getaway vehicle dodging the occasional car and looking wildly for the suspect.

G's voice rose above the roaring of the engine and the ringing in their ears: "Where did you hide the Ibuprofen in this thing?"


	7. A Little Closer to Death

CHAPTER 7 – A Little Closer to Death

10:45 A.M.

He was going to die. He was.

He was tough, but he was actually scared of her. If his boss hadn't hired her, he would be staying far away from her. His heart had already thumped out of his chest from the fear that coursed through his veins. The anxiety was suffocating him for once. Here he was, up to no good, doing the dirty work of this cursed woman, so he was already dead as far as the law was concerned. And if the law caught him, there would be no mercy. That singular fact he was okay with. But not her. No, this woman would probably kill him after she heard what he had to say…

He carefully held down the speed-dial for her number on his cell phone. His palms were sweaty. He swallowed hard as it rang. He hoped against hope that she wouldn't be too mad.

The phone stopped ringing. Her voice growled at him, "What?"

"Señora, Ma'am-Sir, I think I lost them—" He tried to explain.

"You fool!" She hissed at him, cutting him off, sounding madder than usual. "I told you to drive below the speed limit until they caught up to you! You let your adrenaline get the best of you! If you have completely lost them, you won't see tomorrow! _Slow down!_"

He bobbed his head, even though she couldn't see him, and slowed the vehicle he was driving. He looked out the rear-view mirror, praying that that confounded black Challenger would show up soon. After a few seconds, he could just make it out several blocks back. "I see them a ways back there!" He told her excitedly.

"Good." She said darkly, sounding poisonous. "Be sure you don't loose them again. Or else… Heh. They are good to have made it this far, aren't they, Javier?"

He was just a peon in this ridiculous scheme, but he couldn't help what exited his mouth: "If they're as good as all that, why did that one guy have to be dragged out?"

"Shut _up_, you idiot! You _are_ a complete fool!" She lowered her voice almost reverently. "Callen is the best of the best…"

He saw an opening to stroke her huge ego, so he took it, out of desperation, hoping she wouldn't eat him later. "B-But, h-he's not as good as you, no?"

She let out a small, low laugh. "No. Poor Callen plays by the rules. I do not. That's the only reason I'm better…" She paused, then, almost as if annoyed at her thoughts, hissed at him, "You let them keep up with you!"

The phone line went dead.

* * *

Hetty Lange sat at her desk in her work area, carefully searching the contents of a white, Hot Topic, canvas book bag, squinting through her heavy glasses. She had told Nate Getz and the young girl, Joy Garcia, about the explosion a few minutes earlier, leaving out most of the details other than to say that Sam and G were unharmed. The girl had responded with a deep breath, looking relieved. Mr. Getz, himself, had seemed to relax several notches with the news.

Hetty, herself, was not relieved, at all. She hadn't been born yesterday. _Or "hatched", Mr. Callen._ She had thought to herself drily. Everything that had happened so far indicated that there was an "insider": someone who had privileged information about her team and how they operated, and, evidently, information pertaining to Agent Callen. Hetty repressed a frustrated sigh. A breach, even if only a "possible" one, was unacceptable. Hetty's thoughts landed on her current duty: _Is this girl a part of this "possible breach"?_

As Hetty turned over a bottle of water in her hand, followed by a pink pair of sunglasses, and then a sketchbook, she listened to her gut. Everything inside her said that this mystery girl wasn't the one behind any of this. And, even her gut was wrong, and the girl _was_ connected, no doubt it would be brought to light. Teenagers could only hide things for so long… However, she believed the girl was doing merely what she said, as strange as that was.

Hetty herself did not shake that there was a God. She, herself, had listened to a Holy Man in India during her visit in nineteen-seventy-two, when he had spoken prophesies over her life, all of which had been true later. No, the supernatural did not bother her. Being outsmarted by dangerous humans did. Lives were at stake.

Looking inside the sketchbook that was delicately pink, Hetty observed several lovely sketches of flowers, especially roses, anime characters, and small animals. Nothing weird, dangerous, or morbid. One day, this girl might even be a great artist.

Hetty set down the sketchbook and proceeded to look through the rest of the contents of the bag: a pencil case, complete with sketching pencils, an eraser, and a sharpener, a book titled "Fairest", a small comb, lip gloss of the pink variety, a few guitar picks, an unused, pink, tennis racket grip, a silver necklace with a cross on it, a solitary key on a pink ribbon, and a wallet with exactly thirty-four dollars in it. Hetty inspected the lining of the bag, lastly, to find it absolutely normal.

Hetty returned all of the items into the white bag, knowing more than she had before. The girl Joy Garcia was decidedly plain and a touch eclectic. Hetty could respect that, as she, herself, thrived on the eclectic side.

Hetty decided on what she would need to ask the girl to confirm her theories about her. She exited her office and made her way over to the couch area, where the chatting Nate sat in the brown, leather armchair and Joy sat on the matching couch. Hetty walked over to the side of the couch.

Nate became silent, as Hetty handed the bag back to Joy.

"Thank you." Joy said, being polite rather than excited to have her stuff back. She put the bag down next to her on the couch.

"But, of course." Hetty responded, putting her hands behind her back. "May I ask you something, Miss Garcia?" At the brunette girl's nod, Hetty asked her slowly, "What do you know about our agents?"

Joy wrinkled her forehead and her nose, looking confused. "'Agents?'" At Hetty's positive nod, Joy asked, "Do you mean, like, FBI agents?" She glanced at Nate who was staring at her with his arms crossed. "Or, do you mean, like, Real Estate agents?" She looked back at Hetty, "Or, do you mean, like, James Bond agents?"

"How about the ones like Sam and Callen?" Hetty replied, giving her a slight smile.

Joy looked more confused, "Wait… They're agents?" She looked back and forth slowly between Hetty and Nate.

Hetty nodded slowly.

Joy shook her head, looking a bit amazed, and then, fixing her brown eyes on Hetty, explained, "I didn't know anything about them until this morning, Ma'am. I honestly don't know where I am or what's going on… Or even what kind of agents work here… I just hope that Sam and… Callen—or G—or whoever, stay undead."

Hetty held her gaze for a few moments more, and then nodded. "Me too." She said quietly. Hetty met Nate's gaze with a partially satisfied look. "I will have Kensi join you two." Hetty turned and headed upstairs.

* * *

Kensi and Eric jumped at the sound of Hetty's voice behind them.

"Miss Blye, please go downstairs to assist Nate with keeping our guest entertained."

Kensi got out of her chair next to Eric and left the room with a quick "Yes, Ma'am."

Hetty did not miss the worried look that Eric glanced after Kensi with. She had a feeling she knew what had happened. But she would wait, like a lady, before she became upset. "Eric, what don't I know?" Hetty asked, looking at the screen in front of her.

"We had satellite failure," Eric said. "And, at that moment of the satellite failure, Sam saw the suspect get into the earlier tagged vehicle. Now, we're giving chase."

Hetty turned toward Eric, eyebrow raised, and crossed her arms. "I certainly hope you mean "giving chase" through video cameras and the LAPD…" Hetty said, warning written in her voice.

Eric swallowed, staying silent, and chewed on his lower lip, looking anywhere but at Hetty's eyes.

Hetty felt the anger rising within her. "Errrrric—"

Eric began to cower, and looked back at her. He blurted out in a pleading voice, "The messenger wants to live!"

Hetty put her hands on her hips, unmoved by his dramatics, but still needing information. "You're spared. Now, out with it!"

"Agents Hanna and Callen are in pursuit." Eric said, wincing, waiting for the storm to hit.

Hetty kept her peace, honoring her messenger-sparing promise, but felt extremely angry on the inside. She pursed her lips and held her breath, her thoughts raging: _G Callen, I swear you will be the end of me. Injured! You're injured! But no. Go after the suspect. It's your job,_ is it_? Well, we'll have words about that, you stubborn, frustrating, untamable, infuriating, annoying, irritating, exasperating, maddening paaaaaaaain in the asset!_ Hetty halted her mental berating of the one she _knew_ was behind the chase as she realized that Mr. Beale was still frozen in his wince, waiting for her to loose her cool. She exhaled and crossed her arms, trying to look less threatening to her ace computer guru, still stewing a bit inside.

Eric finally relaxed. He asked worriedly, "They're not spared, huh?"

Hetty turned toward the screen and took a few steps towards it, muttering, "Off. With. Their. Heads."

Eric winced again behind her. "…Terrible way to die." He said to himself, quietly.

"Who said anything about death?" Hetty said, still looking at the screen.

Eric paled slightly, considering her words.

"Now," Hetty said, turning back to him, "I need you to get me some camera footage while you're keeping an eye on our boys. Can you do it?"

"Name it." Eric replied, nodding.

Hetty asked for all of the items she'll need for her private investigation into her "hunch", including rarely-used, interior office footage for the past seven months. "If you will link it down to my work station in my office, that will be fine."

"Your wish is my command." Eric responded in his usual happy voice, feeling clear of Hetty's impending wrath. "Should be ready in five."

"Excellent." Hetty nodded. "Now, patch me through."

* * *

"Sam? You gave me your word." Hetty's icy voice came over the iPhone speakerphone as soon as it was answered; the iciness was loud and clear even over the continued ringing in their ears.

Sam and Callen traded an "uh-oh" look.

Since Callen knew he was to blame—and he knew that Hetty _knew_ that he was to blame—he attempted to save his partner. "Hetty, we're chasing THE suspect!"

"You should remain silent, Mr. Callen, as you well know that things aren't always what they seem." She paused. "Like that leg injury."

"Hetty—" G tried again, this time sounding like a teen attempting to get out of trouble with a parent.

"Mr. Callen, I don't want to hear it! You and I will converse lengthily about this after you have had medical attention and have been updated on your tetanus inoculation."

Sam glanced at G and saw the slightly stunned look on his face, and decided to try and salvage the situation.

"Hetty—"

"Mr. Hanna, you are to make sure that the suspect is handed over to the LAPD as soon as he stops. Do not stay and assist! Get Mr. Callen to our medical team. I will have them on stand-by. Understood?"

Sam grimaced, but answered respectfully and lowly, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Mr. Callen?" Hetty said, lengthening his name slightly, waiting for positive that he was clear on her orders.

"I hear you." G said, not happy.

"And remind me when we "chat" to discuss your attitude, Mr. Callen."

The line beeped, indicating it had gone dead.

After a moment of silence, Sam trailing the car in front of them, and G brooding, Sam couldn't help himself: "Still think this is a good idea?"

"She threatened me with a shot." G said disbelieving.

"That was no threat. That was a promise." Sam said, glancing sideways at him.

"She knows I hate needles…"

"Maybe she hates your attitude more." Sam supplied.

"Nah. She respects it." G replied. "…Maybe…"

"Maybe?" Sam echoed mockingly.

G looked at him and did the down-up thing with his ice-blue eyes. "Maybe. Where's the empathy? Feeling a bit cornered here, Pard."

"Enjoy that. You're fixin' to be put in a cage." Sam said, resisting the urge to grin.

Callen looked ahead, staring at the vehicle they were tailing. He said quietly to himself, "I wonder how long I could hide from Eric…"

"Not long enough, G." Sam shook his head, finally breaking into a grin. "And don't go there. Running isn't an option. Besides, I've still got your back."

G looked back at him. "Can you take the tetanus shot for me?"

"Nope. But I'll hold you still for Nurse De'Shaé." Sam said, matter-of-fact.

G glared at him, annoyed that Sam had brought up her name after the months she had "tortured" him while he was in the hospital following his shooting. One of the hand-picked Nurses for the OSP NCIS team, he still, to this day, suspected she had drawn his blood and re-inserted his IVs way too cheerfully. "Nurse De'Shaé hates me." He said vehemently.

"Yeah, but she loves me." Sam said, grinning.

"This is serious, Sam, and you're joking about it?"

"Friends do that." Sam said easily.

"We're not friends anymore."

Sam laughed and sped up the car to close the distance between them and the vehicle they were after.


	8. It All Falls Down

CHAPTER 8 – It All Falls Down

11:48 A.M.

"Did I mention I _love_ that book bag? Totally awesome. Totally, chic-esk."

"Really? Thanks! Hot Topic. On sale."

"Oooo, good store. But have you tried Glowré Punk? In the Santa Monica mall? Bags that are totally hip, totally goth, totally emo, CUTE."

"Really? How're their prices?"

"Eh, not too bad. I mean, I'm sure they have sales… but… You know, I don't believe in purses, myself. They get in the way. That's why, when I find a great-looking messenger bag, I'm alllllllllll over it."

"Function _and _fashion is always the place to start."

"Absolutely."

"And why more bags aren't that way is beyond me."

"I know, right?"

Nate looked back and forth between Kensi and Joy one last time. He stood, smiling sheepishly when they halted their conversation to look at him. "Don't mind me, ladies." He said, flourishing a hand. "Please continue. I just need to… ah… get something to drink."

Kensi and Joy looked at each other and both gave each other an "is that so?" look.

Kensi looked back and Nate and smiled cheekily. "Have fun."

Nate smiled again and made his escape toward the coffee area. He had spent four hours with the teenager throughout the morning, which had been no problem, every minute being interesting and challenging. But, for the last fifteen minutes, he had listened to Kensi and Joy "bond" over really girly topics pretty quickly. It was time for him to get away for a bit. They were perfectly happy to discuss the realities of shopping and hair and emotions and thoughts for the next however long, and while terribly interesting under normal circumstances, Nate was itching to get up to Eagle's Nest and see what was going on. He felt completely out-of-the-loop in this situation.

After getting a cup of black coffee with three sugars, the first real cup of coffee for the day, he took the stairs to enter Eric's domain. He was surprised to find only Eric in the room. Glancing around, Nate briefly wondered where Eric's two information techs were. Seeing the clock on the wall, Nate realized noon was minutes away. No doubt all the techs were out to lunch.

Eric, himself, was sitting at his desk, staring at his two medium-sized screens, typing away, a pen behind his left ear. Eric had the staple blue glow of Eagle's Nest washing over him as he worked.

Nate came near, announcing his presence with a simple, "Did we get the bad guys yet?"

Eric paused, looked at Nate as his greeting, then answered, "Not hardly." More typing. "But, we're getting closer, I think." Eric leaned back and pointed at the big screen across the room, south side. It displayed four traffic cams, showing the streets and steady-moving vehicles of all types. "Sam and Callen are chasing what they think is the driver of one of those SUV's. They haven't stopped yet."

"So, the explosion?" Nate asked, trying to fill in the blank spots in what he knew.

"Both SUV's were rigged to blow. The one LAPD was chasing blew up after it had stopped, injuring two officers in the blast." Eric tilted his head. "That girl. She warned Sam and Callen to get out of the building before it blew?"

Nate nodded.

Eric stared into space for a moment, then looked awed. "Cool." Eric started swiveling his chair back and forth. "You know, I always thought we could use a psychic around here."

"Um, Joy's not psychic." Nate said, raising an eyebrow at the notion Eric was suggesting. Somehow, he seriously doubted that Callen could work side-by-side with someone who could communicate with the dead. Callen didn't need any help: he was already plenty haunted by his own personal demons and ghosts.

"Whatever she is." Eric said, still swiveling. "Might make all of our jobs easier."

_Might. Might be a complete disaster, too. _Nate took a sip of his coffee. He then asked, carefully changing the subject, "So, what's the… general plan… for this chase… thing?"

"I dunno." Eric said, looking at the big screen again. "Live capture?" Eric stretched his back. "Hetty gave strict orders for a hand-off to LAPD when the suspect stops, though." At Nate's puzzled look, Eric let out a soft laugh. "Callen has a date with Doctor Rodgers and Nurse De'Shaé."

Nate shivered. "Nurse De'Shaé." He repeated, sounding troubled.

Eric stared at him like he was weird. "Wha-aat? Nurse De'Shaé is cute. Albeit a tad on the happy side… Why don't you like her?"

Nate thought about it. He answered truthfully, "Actually, I don't know if I dislike her for how she's treated me in the past, or from the stories I have been told of her. Kinda, block… those… um…. Either way, her name brings disturbed feelings to my soul."

Eric thought for a moment. "So, kinda like Director Vance's name does for me?"

Nate shook his head. "No. That's more of a "trust-issue" disturbed. This is more of an "I'm-scared-you'll-physically-do-me-harm" disturbed." Nate paused. "Sooo, what happened to Callen?"

"Apparently," Eric explained. "He got banged up in the explosion. It was bad enough that Hetty dispatched an ambulance. Um… which I had to cancel since they took off in ready pursuit... Hetty's not too happy that their chasing the suspect right now."

"I bet." Nate said. He took another sip of his coffee. "Where _is_ Hetty?"

Eric shrugged. "Probably devising a way to behead people without actually killing them… Or, _practicing_ said way."

Nate's eyes grew large. "She said that?"

"Ho-yeah." Eric nodded. "With venom."

* * *

Sam was getting tired of chasing this suspect; of staring at the same taillights of the tan-colored 2004 Lexus. Thank goodness the guy stayed away from busy highways, but it was as if he was going to drive clear up to Oregon. It had been two-and-a-half hours. Two-and-a-half hours of keeping the suspect in sight, putting up with G's sleep-deprived sarcastic comments, and wondering where the heck in L.A. they were going.

"This is getting ridiculous." G commented beside him. That was Comment Number 7 from his partner on how long this chase was taking. And coming from _The_ G Callen, that was a lot. Sure, they had been on long chases before, but usually it was at higher speeds, with sirens and LAPD and helicopters. This chase was at normal speeds with nothing but… well… nothing. They weren't exactly bored… It was just that the adrenaline rush from earlier had worn off… And, well, it always helped when there were sirens. Screeching tires. Something.

Sam fired back his usual optimistic spattering at his partner. "At least he hasn't caused any wrecks."

G looked over at him and stared. "Two-and-a-half hours, and that's all you have to say?"

"It doesn't hurt to look at the bright side of things, G. Oh, that's right. You're allergic to the bright side of things."

Just as Callen was about to respond, his cell phone rang. The screen showed Eric's direct line. G answered it. "Yeah."

Eric's voice said, "Callen, you guys are going into a traffic cam free zone. It's a big one, too. Unless you turn Northwest sometime soon, I'll be blind."

Sam and Callen traded a look.

G asked Eric, "What's in this dead zone?"

"Some restaurants, some churches, a school, a few residential areas… Oh, and the biggest flea market that side of L.A."

G looked at Sam and tilted his head. "Are we going shopping? Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, being sweetly sarcastic.

Sam inhaled and shook his head slowly, ignoring G's antics. "I sure as hell hope not. That place will be crawling with civilians at this hour."

G became silent, thinking.

The suspect turned to the right up ahead of them. Sam followed.

G finally spoke. "Eric, have LAPD meet us at the flea market."

"Done." Eric hung up.

"You think he's gonna get lost in the flea market?" Sam asked.

"I think he's gonna try." G replied, glancing at Sam.

"And if he doesn't stop at the flea market?" Sam asked, already knowing what Callen's answer would be.

"He'll stop at the flea market."

Twenty minutes later, the car sped up, taxing Sam to keep up with it, turning onto streets, tires squealing. The adrenaline rush returned for both agents. G pulled out his gun, ready for whatever happened next.

True to Callen's hunch, the Lexus raced into the back entrance of the parking lots that led to the huge, sprawling flea market. Sam followed carefully. Sam had been right, as well: there were people everywhere. People were literally jumping out of the way of the suspect's car. This was getting dangerous. Sam hoped that they wouldn't have to call an ambulance for any of these innocent bystanders. He hated it when bad guys got innocents involved…

The car disappeared suddenly between two make-shift metal buildings. As Sam followed, coming around the corner, he was forced to slam on the brakes. The car was sitting there, door open, no driver in sight.

As Sam put his car in park, Callen was already exiting the passenger side.

Sam got out of the Challenger, he drew his gun and took off ahead, looking in the nearby shacks and in the thick crowd that milled about. There was no sign of the guy with the black ski-mask. All he found was a pair of latex gloves lying on the paved ground about thirty-five feet from the vehicle, already trampled. Sam picked them up with one of his own black gloves, suspecting that these had come from a driver not wanting to leave behind fingerprints and not the corndog stand cook.

After a few more minutes of not finding anything else, Sam realized that he didn't know where G was, and had no way of contacting anyone since his phone had met its death earlier. Sam dutifully returned to the cars, hoping that LAPD was already there.

When he reached the cars, he was relieved to see that G was inspecting the abandoned Lexus. Callen was looking in the trunk, talking on his cell phone, and then he was limping around the side to look into the front passenger seat.

When Sam saw Callen limping he remembered what Hetty had said. He was going to have to drag G away from this case, _his_ case, and soon, to get medical attention. No telling how bad that wound was. Sam glanced behind him into the crowd, once more. _Where is the LAPD?_

"Thanks, Eric." G finished the conversation with Eric. He hung up his phone and then did something that was strange. G turned his cell phone completely off and whacked it against his hand and took out the SIM card. He then stuffed both in his left back pocket.

"G?" Sam asked, suspicion in his voice.

"No explosives this time. And Eric tracked the VIN number to a Navy Lieutenant named Kaits. I have the address." G told him. His eyes tracked behind Sam. "Find anything? Where's LAPD?"

"I found a pair of latex gloves." Sam held up his findings with his black-gloved hand. "I might could find the LAPD if you hadn't just shut down your phone. What're you doing?"

Just then, three LAPD officers walked past and stopped at the sight of them.

"LAPD." G said, sounding a touch happier than usual. "Great. You brief them. I'll be in the car." Callen turned and limped back to the Challenger.

Sam knew that G was up to something, but until he had time to figure it out… Sam turned to the LAPD and started turning the scene over to them.

Twenty-five minutes later, all the relevant information had been swapped, evidence given, and more LAPD had been dispatched to comb through the flea market to look for the suspect. Sam returned to his Challenger.

Sam got into the driver's seat and closed the car door.

Callen was waiting with one sentence: "Seventy-four-oh-two-seven, Glencock Lane. Off of Sausalito and Cameron."

Sam looked at him. "What?"

"You can run us by on the way to the hospital."

"What?" He repeated again, this time louder. Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. The boy just refused to quit!

"That's Lieutenant Kaits' home address. Kaits is overseas on the Feringer. We can check out his house and see if the car thieves left anything or if he knew about it in any way..." Callen took a breath, and added, "On the way to the hospital."

"That address and the hospital are over half-an-hour from each other, G. In _opposite_ directions."

G stared at him. Then he pulled out the below-the-belt hit: "Then let's go to the hospital, Partner. Seeing as how this time is just like last time." Callen sat back in his seat and stared out at the LAPD taping off the area surrounding the car in front of them.

It stung. Sam knew G well enough to know he was fighting dirty to get what he wanted. But, he also heard the frustrated, painful truth in what G was saying. The last time, with the successful drive-by that changed all their lives, there had been no leads. No clues. Sam realized he wanted to know they had a lead to follow just as badly as Callen did. The sounds returned to his mind again—almost as real as they had been the first time: the gunshots and G's shallow breathing as he yelled at him to stay with him… The protective partner inside Sam shouted that they _had_ to visit this house, even if that meant a deviation from their orders.

Sam took a deep breath and put the car in reverse. He immediately griped at G, "That hurt, you know."

G responded quietly, "It's the truth."

Sam allowed silence to rest between them as he headed toward the house's address. He seriously hoped this trip would be successful or never mentioned. Hetty was not going to be pleased if she found out.

When they got out on the highway, Sam finally said what he'd been keeping on his tongue: "I know."

* * *

She walked through the eight-foot tall rows of filing cabinets. She walked, treading lightly. She didn't have to be silent. No, she could be noisy or confident in step, but that wouldn't gain her anything. She was an NCIS employee. She would play the part. Perfectly. As always.

She allowed herself a small smile. _NCIS employee._ Archiving assistant or janitor, it didn't matter anymore. She was Miss Nora Myers. _She_ was where she needed to be to achieve her goals.

She used her deceptively delicate hand to brush her dyed-brown hair off of her shoulder. As Nora Myers, she needed to complete a few tasks. And those tasks would be done. As her true self, however… _So close to being done. SO. CLOSE._

Her breathing just about stopped as she realized again, for the hundredth time today, that the date she had planned for over the last three months was _finally_ here. Today was THE day. She was so pleased with herself she could barely contain the delighted laugh that was within her.

She took the seven file folders she held traveling from the side of the archives she was at, across to the attic stairs. Miss Nora had been told to put these in a safe place. And Miss Nora knew that the safe place her supervisor meant was in the attic, in the boxes marked "A-22." How sweet it was to be doing fake "work" while she was doing real "work." It was almost poetic. And, when she was on her flight tonight, one-way to India, she would laugh over it.

On her way to the stairs, she overheard half of a phone conversation happening in Eagle's Nest.

That computer hero Eric was talking. "Yes, Ma'am. They handed the scene over to LAPD, I'm looking at a computer log of it… No, Ma'am. I've tried! Callen must've taken the SIM card out of his phone—" A pause. "Yes, Ma'am, I am tracking their GPS…"

"Miss Nora" headed up the stairs and tried to keep herself from giggling. Seemed that Mr. Callen was going off-grid to find the suspects he was futilely chasing. Oh, it was just too sweet! No doubt he would be arriving at Lieutenant Kaits' home within the hour. Then she would know.

As she filed her items in the box in the attic that held secrets galore (and was probably worth a fortune on the black market) she gloated. She really was the best in her trade. The absolute best. Sure, G Callen was quick thinking on his feet, resourceful, and wired to survive, but she was better. She was every inch as much a ghost, but she had the computer hacker skills that he lacked. She also had the stomach for breaking the underground rules whenever it suited her, going head-to-head with drug cartels. It was as simple as providing what they wanted, using leverages to put them in their place whenever they threatened her. It was why she was still alive. She was just plain better.

She headed back to archives on the second floor of NCIS Headquarters, the natural habitat for Miss Nora. As she walked beside the black, metal railing, she spotted a young girl on the ground floor playing cards with Junior Agent Kensi Blye at Blye's desk. That Psychologist, Nate Getz, was sitting at Senior Agent Sam Hanna's desk, looking over a file. Blye and the girl were laughing and carrying on, both obviously having the time of their lives playing some sort of poker.

_Where did that child come from?_ She wondered to herself. She realized that a child being at NCIS Headquarters hadn't been in her original plans. She wanted to stop and stare and perhaps figure out why the girl was here in the first place. She forced herself to casually keep walking towards Archives. She allowed herself a half smile. It didn't matter. _If I _do_ get to Plan D, the child will just be forced to see._

* * *

Sam and G arrived at Lieutenant Kaits' three-story house forty-five minutes after leaving the huge flea market. The neighborhood was quiet, well-manicured, and clearly filled with upper-end small homes. Kaits' home was one of the largest homes on the block. A few trees stood on the perfectly trimmed front yard. The driveway was vacant. The white garage doors closed. Every one of the home's windows were covered with white drapes on the inside and white shutters on the outside that off-set the red brick nicely.

Sam parked the Challenger next to the curb in front of the house. He and G got out of the vehicle and approached the home, casually looking around once each. The neighbors were either all at work, or all doing other things deep indoors. There was no one in sight.

"Not married?" Sam asked G, keeping his voice low.

G shook his head negatively. "Nope. Eric did say something about Kaits' parents dying and leaving him well off…"

"Explains the house." Sam offered.

"Explains the car." G agreed, stepping up onto the long porch. He came close to the front door. "Sam."

Sam looked at what Callen was looking at. Callen's attempt to open the front door had been successful. G was releasing the door handle, door still closed, and took out his gun. At that moment, Sam felt cold. Something was not right about this. Even more so than normal.

Sam put a hand on G's arm. "This is off." Sam said quietly before he could change his mind of verbalizing his thoughts.

G looked at him. "Off?" He repeated back, just as quietly. "This whole day's been off." _What's your point?_

Sam shook his head, knowing they were going in. "Slow." He said to G through gritted teeth. He stepped back into his position to follow G's count.

G looked back once, showing he understood his partner's wishes. Sam wanted them to go in extra-cautious, going "slow" instead of the normal speed of fast. Sam was sensing some sort of danger. He took a deep breath. Focused. Gave his nod. _One. Two. Go._

They went in, Callen tracking front then left, Sam going right. The house was in perfect order, a dining room to the left, and a kitchen just visible to the back left. A staircase in the center, about five paces in front of them. To the right a living room that tracked far back, with a study back beyond that.

G glanced down and said lowly, "Blood trail."

Sam saw the blood trail he meant. There were drops and smears of dark red on the blue carpet, beginning at the base of the stairs, and tracking up the stairs.

G moved slowly to the left, going as far as he could into the dining room, and heading through the kitchen, avoiding a weird, topless, square case, nearly four feet by six feet, that held antique spears in it between the dining area and the kitchen. The kitchen was clear. "Clear." G said, loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam responded with an equally loud, "Clear."

They met at the bottom of the stairs. They went up together, cautiously, G limping. The second floor had a large open space that was clearly a den with a sitting area and bookshelves on the left, and a gym on the right. The back and front windows let in little light, the white curtains being opaque.

G stayed near the stairs and walked around the back of the stair case wall. "Clear."

Sam checked his side for hiding spaces, finding nothing, he responded, "Clear."

They met back at the stairs and followed the blood trail up, the blue carpet silencing their footsteps. Reaching the third floor, the blood stains headed into a closed bedroom on Callen's side.

Callen waited at the door of the room while Sam checked the room on his side.

Sam called "Clear" before coming to stand behind G.

G opened the door and went the one foot to the left he could, Sam coming in behind him and tracking right. The blood stains headed, drop by drop, smear by smear, to the bathroom, door closed, with a light on, showing at the bottom of the door.

Callen moved in, headed toward the bathroom, staying left as Sam went right.

Just then, the floor—carpet and all—simply gave way beneath G. The moment Callen realized he was falling, he moved to grab the floor edge that he was passing with his left hand. The movement slowed him and tilted him, causing the right side of his forehead to hit off an exposed board.

"G!" Sam yelled in panic, watching him disappear into the floor.

G heard nothing, as he fell to the second floor, unconscious as he landed.

Sam, above him, carefully came to the edge of the hole in the floor, yelling G's name again. He saw that his partner had landed along the wall—facing the wall—on his right side and arm, feet toward the staircase. Callen wasn't moving. The floor just inches behind where G had landed suddenly gave way with the weight from the carpet that had come loose from above. Just inches behind G's back, was a seven-foot hole that led straight down to the ground floor—squarely over the topless spear case. Twenty-five spears were standing ready to catch Agent Callen.


	9. Real Consequences

[Authoress' Notes: My deepest thanks to Pallina. Without her, this would've taken three times as long to write… and be nowhere near this descriptive. _Thank you._]

CHAPTER 9 – Real Consequences

3:45 P.M.

"_G!"_

_It was the same yell of panic that followed something bad. A solitary, panicked yell of his name... They, the yells, were starting to sound the same. How many times had he heard them in his lifetime? Fifty times? Sixty? Seventy? _

_Some of the first times were when he'd been in trouble with foster parents, the ones that gave the system a bad name. The other kids in the house would scream his name when they were trying to keep him from getting hit, or when they were trying to coax him back to consciousness, usually while the furious adult was standing over him. Their voices had been out of sheer terror for his life. _

_Those times during his youth had turned into the middle number of times when he ran away. Yes, they would yell in panic, but he didn't care. He wouldn't look back. The only time he would look back was when there was a more vulnerable kid left behind. He couldn't stand leaving someone who couldn't defend themselves behind… It had caused him to go back into danger a few times… But he didn't leave weaker ones with scum bags. It had become a rule of his. _

_Even in growing older, he couldn't escape it: the sound of his name cried out in panic. Beijing, Jersey City, Bogota, Libya, Afghanistan, Columbia, Prague, San Diego, Washington D.C., Salt Lake, and now L.A... Every single place it would happen. Anytime anyone got close enough to him to know his real name, they would be forced to use it like that. Screaming or yelling his name as if it would save him from whatever nightmare was happening to him. It was a nice thought. To his knowledge, it had only worked once… _

"_G!"_ The deep voice returned, sounding far away, breaking into the blackness he floated in. He resisted it easily.

_The one time it had worked… His partner… Gunshots… He had yelled. He had begged. He had pleaded. And, right now, he remembered… There had been a light that beckoned him. It was a choice. His partner or the light. Float away, or fight to get back; fight to get back to the sound of his partner yelling his name in panic. It had worked. They both knew it. He didn't have to acknowledge it, and his partner hadn't brought it up. The reason he hadn't died…_

"_G!"_ The far away deep voice was repeating, over and over. Each time there was additional panic. Concern. Something was horribly, terribly wrong. There it was again: _"G!"_ _Was that voice saying something else?... More words?... _Each time the voice said something, there was a ringing that interfered with it. _The voice was so distant… If it would just come closer…_

_Wait… What is going on?_

G tried to open his eyes, the darkness in his mind clearing enough to realize he didn't know. He couldn't do it, his eyes wouldn't open. He couldn't remember anything recent, and that scared him. His body was being difficult. He found he couldn't move. Not his arms, not his legs, not his eyelids. He tried to breathe in air, and he even found that difficult. The numbness had taken him over completely. The fear level inside him became higher. Something was seriously wrong. _Am I dying?_

"G, don't move!" The voice returned, still far away, as if in a tunnel. "Listen to me! Do not move! Don't roll, don't turn, don't move! G, do you hear me? _G!_"

The voice was familiar. Very familiar. He couldn't remember who it belonged to. But he knew he trusted this voice. He wasn't frightened of the voice. He wanted to answer it… But he couldn't. He would do as the voice was asking him. He wouldn't move… Even so, he was too weak to move. Too numb. His body was betraying him. _What happened?_ He fought with his mind for answers. All he could remember was that his name had been yelled.

"G, I'm right here." The voice said, now sounding closer. "Don't move. Stay still, okay? Don't turn or anything, okay?"

G tried to use his voice, answering that he wouldn't, but he couldn't, again. This time the fear grew into an alarm that signaled his heart to beat faster. He was anxious because he couldn't move and couldn't respond. The faster beating of his heart began to pulse through his body and head like a drum, with a strange heavy beat happening in his lower left arm… No, not arm… His left wrist.

"G, I'm coming to you… Stay still, okay? Don't move… G, hang on…" The voice was even closer, but now it was lower in volume, sounding thickly concerned.

It hit him. _Sam._ Finally putting a name with the voice was a relief, bringing a bit of peace into his inner storm. He worked again to open his eyes, finally able to crack them to see… gray nothingness. He saw nothing. His heart took off again, this time bringing tingling throughout his body. Something was very wrong. _Sam._

Sam's voice returned. "G, don't move, buddy…" Sam was extremely close by this time.

G tried to look toward his voice, but he couldn't. The tingling feeling was overtaking him. Fear built up inside him, beginning to smother him.

"Oh, God." Sam said quietly this time. Louder, Sam said, "G, you're bleeding. Stay still, just stay still. Don't move, don't turn, don't roll, okay? I'm going to try to get the bleeding to stop. Understand?"

G desperately wanted to answer, but he couldn't, which was beginning to madden him. He stared into the gray nothingness and resolved weakly to listen to his partner. Sam was trying to help him. He needed to trust him. The fear inside him made it easy to decide. He felt blind and lost, like driving a car in torrential rain.

Sam put his hand carefully on G's left arm and carefully pulled it up above G's head.

The movement began a landslide of sensations—none of which were good—in G's body. The tingling was rapidly diminishing, leaving behind a pain that began to grow. He hurt, badly. Very badly. Not just his head, but his arms, his legs, his ribs, his back, his shoulders—everything!

At that moment, Sam started pressing hard on G's arm in two places: his wrist and two inches above his elbow on the inside of his arm. G inhaled as a pain reaction and instantly felt nauseous. He wanted to pull away, but he was still unable to move.

"It's a bad wrist slit, G. I'm using the brachial pressure point." Sam said, trying to explain the pain he knew he was putting his partner through. "Stay with me… You've lost a lot of blood..."

The nausea remained, the pain strengthened, and a bitter cold started to creep in over him. G felt his breathing and heartbeat respond to his fear of the unknown. Why was he lying here? What had happened? Why was he hurt? If it was just a cut, why couldn't he move? He felt his speeding heartbeat pounding underneath Sam's hands. His breathing became rapid. It hurt. Breathing hurt.

"You've gotta calm down, G." Sam said lowly, voice calm, but in control, feeling G's accelerated heart rate beneath his hands. "You just fell ten feet down… And that concussion is nothing compared to this slit. You're bleeding like the Mississippi, here." Sam let out a small, amused sound. "And where you landed… There is a huge opening in the floor behind you that will drop you onto a bunch of sharp, pointy objects if you try to roll onto your back… An angel must've pushed you to the side for you to land right here next to the wall. You nearly became a G-ka-bob…"

G listened to his partner through the pain and the cold that was taking over his consciousness. _Don't roll over. Don't move. Stay still. _The earlier orders came back as he stared into the grey nothing, blinking his eyes. He tried to calm down as Sam continued on, but it was proving difficult. Memories started to trickle back to him. The drive-by. The explosion. The long chase. The flea market. The house with a blood trail. The sudden fall. Now, he was freezing, breathing hard, and feeling horrible. G began to shiver.

"Stay calm, G. We're not going anywhere." Sam tried, sensing that his partner was slipping into shock. "Stay with me… Stay with me, G."

G suddenly became so light-headed that conscious thought was not coming anymore. He felt his eyes glazing and the dark calling him back again. His partner's voice was far away. The dark offered shelter from the cold and, mercifully, the pain.

* * *

Sam felt G go from tense to limp. He raised his voice, attempting to keep G from falling unconscious again, "G? G!" Sam gave his partner's arm a firm shake in his grasp.

G gasped, tensed for a moment, and then quickly became limp again, his eyes not even opening.

Sam gritted his teeth. He needed to keep him awake. But, keeping G awake was going to be near impossible unless he got some help. And to get help, he was going to need G's cell phone and the SIM card. Sam's eyes tracked in the dim light to Callen's back pocket. He could see the outline of the iPhone there. Thankfully, G hadn't landed on it…

Sam called to his partner again, being loud, "G? G, stay with me!"

G didn't stir. Sam could feel through his grip on his partner's limp arm: Callen was trembling, as if he was becoming extremely chilled. It was the bitter mixture of the shock and the blood loss. He needed help, fast.

The brown-eyed Senior Agent carefully checked the blood flow coming from the slit on G's wrist. It had slowed, but it was far from contained. Sam knew that he couldn't release G's brachial artery yet. He thought through his first aid training that he learned as a Navy SEAL. Callen might have broken the arm he landed on, or any of his other bones, for that matter. He needed to be careful how much he moved G. Yet, he NEEDED to move G; he was two inches from another fall!

Sam decided quickly on a course of action. He released G's wrist, continuing to hold tightly to his partner's arm-artery pressure point. Carefully leaning forward, being sure not to fall, himself, he reached to Callen's left back pocket and removed the phone and SIM card, taking pains not to drop either through his blood-covered fingers.

Bringing the phone to his thigh that rested on his knee near Callen's head, he wiped off the SIM card and put it into the phone with one hand. Successful, he powered on the iPhone and let it boot while he found G's wrist again and applied pressure.

He watched G for a moment, thinking that his partner would react to the pressure in pain, but there was nothing. No reaction. Sam realized that such stillness from G meant nothing good. Sam couldn't tell in the dim lighting if Callen had lost all of the color in his face or if it was his imagination. He didn't think it was his imagination. He was gripped in concern for his partner. All he could focus on was getting help and keeping G's blood in his body… And not letting him fall to his death…

The iPhone finally showed the applications, indicating it had fully booted. Sam released G's wrist again and quickly went to work getting the phone to dial, which was difficult with the warm blood on his fingers fooling the heat-sensors on the phone.

Finally, he was able to dial Eric. He put the phone on speakerphone and returned to putting pressure on Callen's still-bleeding wrist.

"Eric." The sure voice of the computer guru answered.

"It's Sam." Sam said loudly back, knowing his tone indicated trouble. "I need an ambulance! Seven-four-oh-two-seven, Glencock Lane."

"On it." Eric responded. The phone was silent as Eric switched lines to make the call to EMS.

Sam left the phone alone and yelled at his partner's unconscious, trembling form again, "G! Callen! Wake up! Come on, buddy, stay with me! G! _G!_"

Sam's mental voice began repeating his earlier words in his mind as he watched G: _An angel must've pushed you to the side for you to land right here next to the wall. You nearly became a G-ka-bob… _

Sam started talking to himself, working out his thoughts as he held G's arm. "This was set up so whoever fell would land on that spear case..." He trailed off as thoughts came to him. _Maybe the baddies knew you'd go left and I'd go right… Maybe they knew… Maybe they didn't… Maybe you weren't the target, G… Maybe you were… _Silence echoed around them. Even G's breathing was virtually nonexistent. Sam couldn't stop his mind's positive thoughts from becoming negative as the smell of G's blood filled his nostrils. _Traps… All day long. Three times. The drive-by. The SUV explosion. Now this: a fall planned to take a life._ Sam came to the same conclusion he knew his partner would be verbalizing if he'd been conscious: _A big game player is behind this. Someone who knows our ways of doing things. We were led here. Played. And we fell into it. Almost literally._ _Maybe even someone on the inside of NCIS itself..._ The thought brought a chill to Sam. He couldn't assume they were safe until they got to the bottom of this.

Sam found himself unconsciously gauging visually how much blood he thought G had lost. It had been a lot. He guessed it was at least two pints… It would be near danger levels if he didn't stay vigilant. The crimson was everywhere now, thanks to Sam moving G's arm. _Good thing G is wearing his own clothes today..._ Sam thought to himself. Suddenly, the joke that Sam had thought to himself made him nauseous. Clothing reminded him of someone even more frightening than the current situation they were in. _Hetty. Aw man, she will NOT be happy. _Sam exhaled. It was too late now. If he wasn't a dead man, he was definitely a near-dead man. He would have to answer to her, as G would, for disobeying orders.

"Sam?" Eric's voice sounded into the silence.

"Yeah?" Sam said toward the iPhone that rested on his leg.

"EMS should be there in moments."

Sam, just then, heard the sirens of the ambulance in the distance.


	10. For the Guilty and Just

CHAPTER 10 – For the Guilty and Just

4:15 P.M.

After receiving the dutiful call from Eric informing her that he'd located Agents Callen and Hanna, and that they required an ambulance, Hetty went up to Eagle's Nest in the fastest, most controlled way she could manage. She entered, asking loudly, "Speak to me, Eric!"

Eric was sitting at his computer terminal, listening to his headset. He turned, tapping a key to put the phone on mute. "The ambulance just arrived at their location. Agent Hanna is overseeing… Um, Agent Callen is unconscious."

Hetty came closer to her computer genius. She fixed her obsidian, glasses-framed eyes on Eric's light blue eyes. "Eric, tell me what is going on. Tell me everything." Her tone left room for patience, but not for being lied to.

Eric Beale swallowed, then launched in. "Sam and Callen went to the home of Lieutenant Kaits… The man who owned the stolen Lexus they were chasing for two-and-a-half hours. All I know beyond that is that Sam called a few minutes ago for an ambulance."

Hetty inhaled in pained frustration. "They went to see if Lieutenant Kaits knew about the plot to kill Callen…"

Eric bit his lip slowly, agreeing. "Probably… but Kaits is overseas on the Feringer."

Hetty shook her head slowly. "Another." She muttered to herself.

The blond computer guru looked at her quizzically.

She looked at him and asked pointedly, covering her private thoughts, "Who gave them the Lieutenant's home address, Mr. Beale?"

Eric looked guilty before he had heard the entire question. His mouth partially open, he glanced away from her, his answer paining him right beneath his typically cool surface.

Hetty began to stare unmercifully at Eric, crossing her arms. She refused to save him by being the one to speak first.

"I'm no longer spared, huh?" Eric finally asked pathetically, already wincing, looking back at her, deflating his posture a bit.

Hetty allowed a few moments of silence. She said lowly, "Mr. Beale, you know that I appreciate your chutzpah more than any other person on this team. You are essential to what we do and how we do it. What this… infraction… of going behind my back to assist Callen… displays… is an authority issue; one that I cannot tolerate." Hetty bowed her head for a moment and then looked back at him. "Since my desire to 'have the punishment fit the crime' simply cannot be perfected in this situation… You are grounded from whistling for the next two months, Mr. Beale."

Eric winced harder and swallowed as he listened to her, adequately showing remorse.

Hetty continued slowly, being sure that he caught each word. "If you attempt to use anything other than your voice for the next sixty-one days, calling the team to gather, or otherwise, you will no longer be spared… And I assure you, I _have_ devised a way to behead people without actually killing them. Am I clear?"

Eric nodded quickly, leaning back from her as far as his chair would allow, taking in every word. "Crystal, your honor."

"Good. Now." Hetty looked at the screens around her. "I want Sam patched through to my office phone in exactly ten minutes so that I can assess the situation myself. And, in the meantime…" Hetty took a deep breath and looked back at him. "Eric, issue a lock-down command for NCIS until 3 AM tomorrow." Hetty inhaled. "By then, I should know where the breach is."

Eric raised a worried eyebrow.

Hetty added firmly, "No one in, or out. All employees out are to be called back with the exception of Agents Callen and Hanna."

Eric sat upright and nodded. "On it."

Hetty clasped her hands behind her back and nodded slowly. She turned and left Eagle's Nest, her thoughts whirling crazily in her silence.

* * *

Joy Garcia shakily sat on the cold, tile floor in the women's restroom in the strange place that she was currently a captive of. Her nausea continued to roll through her. Her breathing was fast and sounded pained to her own ears. She hadn't hurled her barely-there breakfast from so many hours ago, but she was close. She was grateful for the privacy of a single-toilet restroom as she hugged herself behind a door that was painted a rich, dark teal. The nausea rolled again, but instead of hurling, tears sprang to her eyes. She gave in to the silent sobs that were suddenly controlling her.

She knew. She knew. She knew. Something horrible had happened, and God had said that He'd told another. This time, she couldn't say anything, because He had withheld information from her. Whoever the messenger was that was supposed to keep G… Callen… whoever he was… alive, had nearly failed or absolutely failed. Was he dead? Was Sam dead?

She shuddered again, and sobbed silently in the restroom's dim light. She had been such a people-pleaser before she had met God. Now she was trying so hard to be a God-pleaser, but, somehow, in this moment, she felt like she had failed both. Utterly.

_I did what I was supposed to. I delivered the first message. I even delivered the crazy, last-minute message about that second danger to Nate. If I'm still right in the middle of obedience, then why do I know so vividly that the third message wasn't delivered right? Why does this hurt so bad? _Her angry, "poor me" thoughts were directed mentally at God.

She just wanted an answer to make the pain less intense. These were people she didn't know any better than her dead Great Grandmother, so why did she care? Why did she care so much if those "Agents" lived or died? Why did she love them? Maybe this was a side-effect of being loved by God—you love others.

Joy emotionally gathered herself quietly, still sitting on the floor, hugging herself, her thoughts slowing their tormenting circuit. Her tears lessened. Something deep inside her was answering her: soothing, peaceful comfort began to ease the torment inside her. She wiped her eyes with her white hoodie sleeve. A new feeling began to shine brightly inside her, one that assured her that both individuals were still alive. Sam was alive, and was okay. And G… Callen… whoever… was alive. It would be okay.

_It will be okay._ She echoed mentally to herself.

As the next few minutes wore on, she began to feel a little foolish for her outburst at God. Nauseous or not, He knew what was going on, and she didn't. She didn't even know where she was or if she'd ever be allowed to go back home…

Joy realized that Kensi would be coming after her soon to make sure she was alright, since Joy had left with a quick, breathless "Bathroom!" comment.

She stood and tried to get the pink of her cheeks and eyes to go down with a little cool water and pats with a dry paper towel. When her eyes persisted in their I've-been-crying look, she waved her hands in front of them, attempting to dry them with air.

They eventually returned to a normal-looking state. Joy tried an easy smile on in the mirror, and, pleased with the results, left the bathroom to return to hanging out with Kensi, nausea nearly gone.

* * *

When Joy had headed to the bathroom, Kensi had gotten up from the desk area and walked over to where Nate sat on the couch.

"Hey." She said to him, trying to be quiet, just in case Joy came back quickly. Nate looked up at her, listening. "Seriously, even if all of her background, family, and financial stuff are cleaner than bleach, and she's not involved—at all, we still are going to have to decide what to do with her. I mean, she's seen our location!"

Nate inhaled and nodded once. "I agree. Even if she tells just her father, what if he becomes suspicious and wants to check things out?" Nate shook his head, holding up a file. "I just finished checking the personal history of her backgrounds. Her family and friends are cleaner than clean. In associations. In everything. Only a handful of citations and speed violations… I don't even know that _my_ set of family and friends would stand up to such scrutiny—"  
"They wouldn't, Mr. Getz." Hetty's voice sounded behind them, causing Kensi to straighten and Nate to sit up, turning around. Hetty continued, "Eric's background cross-referencing has not turned up any vectors that assist us with this situation. Even though we are all suspicious of Miss Garcia, we can't find anything incriminating her or her family… That either means she is a ghost with a fabricated family, which I have never witnessed on one so young, or, that she is, in fact, telling the truth, and has no involvement in this string of events."

Kensi asked, "What if she's a ghost?"

Hetty smiled partially, "Then keeping her here all day was to our benefit. We will know for sure when Callen returns."

Nate glanced at Kensi, and then asked carefully, "And what if she _is_ telling the truth?"

Hetty stared at him with pursed lips. She said at last, "Why don't we make her a Civilian Informant? That way, she's in the records as one on our side."

Kensi and Nate looked at each other, a bit shocked. That had never entered their thoughts… And wasn't that premature?

"Well," Nate agreed slowly, "That would probably keep Joy from telling her friends... Possibly even her father."

Hetty nodded, turning to walk back to her desk. "Excuse me. I'm expecting a phone call."

* * *

[Note from the Authoress: Trying to fill in all the holes before heading to the hospital with Sam and G... Let me know what questions you still have. I look forward to reading your review!]


	11. Protective Eyes

CHAPTER 11 – Protective Eyes

4:52 P.M.

Sam drove his Challenger RT, following the ambulance that carried his partner to the hospital. G's phone rang from his passenger seat. He barely looked over; he grabbed it while following the flashing lights of the ambulance. His insides were knotted over having to be separated from Callen while they transported him.

The EMTs had been pretty shocked at the situation that they found the two agents in. It had taken all of them to get the unconscious Agent from his precarious situation in between the giant hole in the floor and the wall. Getting him onto a gurney had been another long set of maneuvers, all while trying to stop his bleeding and get his shock under control. They had all taken turns yelling at G, trying to get him to wake up. But G had been resistant. He hadn't moved aside from his body's natural shivers from the shock induced cold.

The bloody iPhone nearly reached its last ring before Sam answered it. He quickly switched it to speakerphone so he could drive hands-free.

"Yeah?"

Eric's voice answered him. "Sam, Hetty wants to talk to you. I'm going to patch you through to her office phone, okay?"

Sam inhaled and exhaled. "Sure, Eric. And thanks for that ambulance."

A pause. "You're welcome." Eric said, his voice sounding like he knew things were serious. "Here's Hetty."

There was a moment of silence and then the voice that Sam was glad to hear, even though he didn't want to talk to her, came over the phone.

"How bad, Sam?" She asked. Hetty's voice was calm, but Sam heard the "worried about Callen" undercurrent in it.

Sam swallowed, then started explaining. "G fell through the third floor to the floor beneath it, and on the way down gashed his wrist and hit his head. We're talking serious blood loss, concussion, bruising, and possible broken bones… Hetty, it was a trap."

There was a moment of silence, then Hetty asked carefully, "And you? Are you injured?"

"I'm fine, Hetty. Not a scratch on me."

Hetty's voice remained calm. "I will alert our doctor to get his larger team together at the hospital to attend to Callen. Lord knows they must be used to it by now…" Sam smiled in agreement with her for a moment. Hetty continued, "Now, Sam, I know that you suspect as well as I do, someone on the inside of NCIS may be behind this. No one knows Callen well enough to plan something so deliberate and elaborate."

Sam turned the car to follow the ambulance onto a highway. "Yeah. What's the plan?"

"For now? You leave the detective work to me. I need you to stay near Callen and do what you do best."

Sam said grimly, "Keep him out of trouble."

Hetty responded firmly, "Watch his back. He isn't out of danger yet."

"Understood." Sam said.

"Be sure to update me every hour on the hour."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Hetty hung up on her end and the iPhone beeped to inform him.

Sam tightened his grip on his steering wheel. It would be a long night.

* * *

Sam followed the EMT's as they wheeled Callen into the Emergency Room. They went deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of room until they arrived at the "high security" area, where celebrities and high-profile patients were brought for Emergency Care. The rooms were on a constant state of "lockdown" not easily allowing anyone in or out without security clearance.

The room they took Callen's rolling gurney into was marked "HP Room 7" and Dr. Ethan Rodgers, senior physician for the NCIS Special Ops Team was waiting. Dr. Rodgers was a man in his fifties, graying brown hair, and as tall as Sam, but thin.

As Sam came into the room, he paid attention to who was already in the room as the EMT's briefed Dr. Rodgers on Callen's condition. There was Dr. Rodgers' head assistant, Dr. James Kyle, and his other assistant, Dr. Matt Waters. Nurse De'Shaé was not in the room, and in her place was a twenty-something young woman, brown-haired, with a badge that showed she was an RN. Instantly, Sam wondered at this girl that he had never seen before today. It was strange for a new nurse to be here.

The EMT's were leaving and Dr. Rodgers was giving orders to Dr. Kyle and Dr. Waters. The older physician then turned to the nurse and told her what to get ready.

The nurse left the room. The doctors were now swarming over G.

Sam realized he didn't trust the new nurse. At all. He asked over the sound of the doctors talking lowly to each other, "Where's Nurse De'Shaé? And who's she?"

Dr. Rodgers, checking Callen's eyes with a pen light, answered him. "She's on maternity leave, Mr. Hanna. That's Nurse Trish Davis. She was chosen as the replacement."

Sam shook his head, coming a few steps closer. "Sorry, Doc, but after the junk that's gone down today, she's not touching Callen. And she's not helping, either."

Dr. Rodgers pocketed his pen light and turned toward Sam. "What would you like for me to do? I have to have a nurse."

Sam shrugged, saying, "Call one down from the third floor. Anyone. Just pick one up there by random."

Dr. Rodgers looked puzzled. "They haven't had the background check like Trish—"

"Doesn't matter. I want someone who doesn't know us, or NCIS. Someone who just came in to work today, no plans."

"This is highly irregular—"

"Doc, just do it." Sam said, gesturing to G's unconscious form. "I'm watching out for him. I don't care if you understand or not."

Dr. Rodgers thought quickly then nodded his head. "Okay." Dr. Rodgers looked at his two assistants. "Get that blood soon. I'll be right back."

The two assistant doctors nodded and muttered affirmative things. Dr. Waters moved to get a blood-drawing kit off of the stocked cabinet top in the room.

Sam followed Dr. Rodgers out of the room. He stood by G's door while he watched the doctor stop Nurse Trish who was coming back to the room with supplies. He heard the doctor tell her that she was being assigned to the third floor to cover for another nurse. Sam watched Nurse Trish's reaction carefully. She seemed surprised, but okay with the situation. She handed the doctor the supplies she had gotten and left to head for the elevators.

Dr. Rodgers moved to the nurse's station about twenty feet away. He motioned to the nurse seated there and asked her something before handing her the tray. That nurse put the tray down and started looking over the supplies very carefully. In the meantime, Dr. Rodgers picked up a phone and called to get a nurse sent down.

The nurse handed the tray back to the doctor, bobbing her head and saying something. Dr. Rodgers returned to Sam. He showed him the tray of supplies.

"These seem clear of anything harmful, Mr. Hanna. Would you like to inspect them yourself?" He asked Sam.

Sam looked at the items on the tray. There were medicine vials and special bandages and other assorted metal things resting on it. Sam looked back at Dr. Rodgers. "Trash it." He said lowly.

Dr. Rodgers looked from the tray to the agent before him. He finally said, "Must've been a hell of a day for you gents."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Something like that."

A nurse came around the hall bend looking calm, but puzzled. Her Asian features and height painted her as in her early thirties. She saw them and came closer.

Dr. Rodgers spoke first, "Are you the replacement nurse for HP seven?"

The nurse nodded. "Yes, sir. They told me to get down here ASAP."

Dr. Rodgers nodded. "Fabulous. Are you up to date with your Trauma Training?"

"Yes, sir." She answered, sure of herself.

Dr. Rodgers nodded again. "You understand that "HP" stands for "High Profile," Nurse?" At her nod, he continued. "No one is to know that either of these men are here, is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

Sam asked her, "What's your name?"

"Erika. Erika Wang." She replied.

"Erika, thanks in advance for helping him." Sam said, motioning towards his partner's room with a hand.

She smiled. "Glad to help, sir."

Dr. Rodgers nodded once. "Let's get busy. Nurse. This way."

Sam watched them over the next thirty minutes prep his partner by removing his clothes and dressing him in hospital attire, assess Callen by checking all of his vitals, drawing blood, and checking his bones head-to-toe. Sam was chagrined to find that Callen refused to wake at all, his face still a pale color. Callen was so deep in his unconsciousness that he did not seem to even flinch when they poked and prodded over his injured areas, nor when they would call his name, trying to get him to respond.

The doctors talked among themselves, Nurse Erika assisting them, discussing the best way to go about getting Callen to consciousness, checking his bones further, and if a blood transfusion was necessary after the amount of blood he had lost. Repair surgery was mentioned for Callen's wrist, which Dr. Rodgers shot down, saying that he could do just as well if the bandaging was preventative and correcting in nature.

Sam listened to them nervously. He really didn't want to be hearing doctors speak over his partner like this. This was the second time that he had had to play this role. He knew that he wouldn't be able to leave even if he wanted to. He was desperate to protect Callen; that included making sure that the doctors were all on his side, and weren't going to do anything that Callen himself would be opposed to. Sam was slightly grateful that G was unconscious. If he had been awake, there would be no time to think—Sam would be trying to keep him calm.

_This is a good break. G will come 'round soon, then there'll be no break for awhile. _Sam thought to himself, standing and trying not to pace. He kept his eyes on the doctors.

Dr. Rodgers finally turned to Sam and told him, "We need to take him to run an MRI and X-rays."

Sam nodded.

When they pushed his partner out of the room, he went with them, still being a protective partner.

* * *

_It was a vast, dark plain. _

_There were gray grasses and dark trees with no leaves peppering the landscape. A cloudy sky threatened rain and thunder, although he didn't hear any. There was a haze of fog in his path ahead._

_He stumbled, falling to the ground painfully. His heart was beating fast. They would catch up with him if he didn't continue to move forward quickly. He couldn't allow himself to lose focus. _

_They were hunting him. _

_Who they were, he wasn't sure, but what did that matter? He knew he could be chased by nearly ten-thousand bad guys all with the same purpose: to end him. It didn't matter. They could come with guns or with knives or with grenades or with dogs, all that mattered was that he could out-smart them, out-run them, and basically dodge them. He had lived this way for so long, a target for hundreds, yet elusively slipping through their ranks in plain sight, their eyes not registering him, and surviving. _

_Yes, he knew how to survive. This time would be no different. No matter where they had chased him._

_So he ran. _

_He moved through the trees. Through the fog. _

_His heart pounded._

_He wished he had his gun. But somehow he knew that the baddies had disarmed him awhile back. All he had to use was the environment around him._

_He moved around a large tree._

_He was surprised to see the dark and gray landscape get a small bit more cheerful._

_There was sunlight now, and the grass wasn't graying, it was green._

_Suddenly, he stopped his running, looking around breathlessly. _

_He realized that in all directions were miles and miles of green, grass-covered hills. There were no more trees. No more landmarks. It was as if he was in the middle of nowhere._

_Lost._

_It never helped him when he looked around and didn't see any recognizable landmarks, but it was even worse now because he was miles from anywhere he could escape to. Maybe he was so lost that the bad guys wouldn't be able to find him to kill him._

"_You're all alone?"_

_Callen whipped around. _

_A young girl, a brown-haired teenager, was standing five feet behind him. _

_Callen felt a pang of surprise—he had just looked where she stood and she had definitely not been there before. Reading her quickly, he realized that she did not pose any obvious threat to him. She was wearing a modest white dress that was many multi-layers of sheer fabric. It was like something out of ancient Greece. A few layers of her dress, acting like a cape, blew behind her in the breeze. Her hair, shoulder-blade length, moved in the wind, as well._

_She tilted her head at him. "I'm all alone, too."_

_Callen thought about what she had asked him, and then realized, he didn't remember why he was alone. He was used to it, but… he was almost certain Sam had been with him just moments ago._

_Callen kept his silence, unsure of what to say._

_The girl looked him over with her brown eyes. She made eye contact with him again and asked, "Does it hurt a lot?"_

_Callen squinted his eyes at her, questioning what she was asking. _

_Her eyes moved to stare at his midsection._

_Looking down at himself, he found he was covered in his own blood. And by the looks of it, he had lost a lot of it. He realized he _did_ hurt, but it was more like a general, all-over hurt. Not captive to one area alone._

How did I get all banged up?_ He thought to himself wonderingly. _

_He looked back at the girl, answering with his own question, "Where are we?"_

"_I don't know." She answered. Her sad eyes told Callen that she really didn't._

_They looked at each other for awhile. Then Callen looked away, staring out across the distances. He was seriously lost._

"_Do you want my help?" She asked quietly._

_Callen thought about trusting her, but, even though she didn't seem dangerous, he had a personal rule about trusting strangers. He shook his head, "No, thanks. I'm good."_

_Over the next long while, the same pattern would take place: he would look around trying to figure out which direction to go. She would offer to help him quietly, and he would refuse. _

_Time was ticking by._

_The sixth time, Callen finally had picked a direction to go. It was apparent to him that he needed to keep moving. No doubt the ones that had been chasing him earlier were tracking him here. And the girl would be fine. She looked healthy, that meant she had a home or a way to eat, anyway, somewhere around close by._

_Callen started to walk away from her, not stopping to say good-bye._

_Her brown eyes were sad from what he had last seen of them. _

_He got almost thirty paces away from her, when her voice floated timidly around him._

"_But… I have answers for you." _

_G turned back to look at her, wondering quickly if she meant answers to his past—the painful memories without names—or if she meant answers about something else. _

_G began to return to ask her what she meant._

"CALLEN!" _A thundering voice boomed around him, shocking him, but not startling the girl. _

_She moved to hug herself as the voice acted like a magnet, pulling Callen back, away from her flowing, white dress form. His feet were on a stable piece of ground, but the ground was moving toward the voice and away from the girl._

"_NO!" He yelled at the force pulling him away. _

_He ran towards her, trying to halt the ever-widening distance between them._

"CALLEN!" _The voice boomed again._

_She was still looking at him as he struggled to get back to her. Even from far away and getting dragged even further from her, he could see sparkling tears fall from her eyes. She hugged herself tighter, as if she was cold and saddened beyond belief._

"_NO!"_

* * *

He gasped, breathing in air that stung to take in. Parts of him were on fire and others were numb. The bright lights glared at him from every side, causing his head to drum loudly, almost drowning out the voices that were saying his name and talking loudly at him. The burning in his eyes caused tears to come up, streaking down his temples and to his ears. He couldn't see anything through the blurriness and the bright lights.

Callen came to enough to realize there were hands firmly on his arms and his legs; it was as if he was being held down.

The confusion circling him was disorienting. He couldn't form coherent thoughts. He began to become afraid that something bad was happening to him. The lights were painful, the voices were painful, and his body was in pain, so he struggled, trying to get it to stop.

The voices became louder, their words being lost before their meaning could be translated. It was just an endless, painful noise that wouldn't cease.

Through the turmoil in his mind, he wished he could yell at all of them to be silent, get off him, and leave him alone.

The sounds didn't desist. They kept it up. Every single one of their words were sheer pain to his head that throbbed as if it would explode. He reached his pain limit. He cringed and pushed against what he could, not understanding what was going on and why things hurt so much.

The voices that hurt were joined by more touches and grips that hurt even more. He struggled harder, sounds from himself reaching his ears.

A voice was nearer than the others, and even though he didn't understand what it was saying, it was a familiar voice. A voice that held a strange security in it. A voice that assured him deep down: he wasn't alone in his pain.

Callen finally quit struggling against the hands. The tone of the voice that was familiar was encouraging… and almost soothing. He was just about ready to open his eyes and see what was going on, but then he felt weariness wash over him again. It was heavy, and it dragged him back down.

The other voices started yelling at him.

He ignored them.

He passed out.

* * *

In the MRI room, Sam watched as his partner quit struggling and became still again, despite the doctors and nurse yelling at him. Sam was impressed. His partner had been so disoriented that he was reacting with instinct only, and not very well, at that. Nothing that the doctors had been saying to him had any effect on him, leading Sam to realize that G was extremely out-of-it. He had seen the same thing in the past when G had been heavily drugged after his shooting. Luckily, when he had started encouraging G to calm down, Callen actually had.

"We lost him again. He's unconscious." Nurse Erika said from near Callen's left shoulder.

They had the Senior Agent on the MRI table, getting him ready for the scans. Sam guessed that it had been the fact that the doctors were strapping his partner down for the MRI that had finally woken him. G didn't take being restrained well.

Dr. Rodgers sighed from where he stood, directly on the other side of Agent Callen. The sigh indicated that he wasn't too upset. After treating the Agent for a couple months while he healed from taking five rounds, Dr. Rodgers had become used to the method at which Callen healed. He turned to look at Sam, who stood near G's head.

"Sam, is he low on sleep?" Dr. Rodgers asked.

Sam thought through his answer carefully. He knew that the last night had been disrupted by Psycho Mouse, but what about the nights before? With an internal start, Sam realized that he had heard G complain about not sleeping well for the last week, easily. It might have been longer than that. He answered the Doctor: "Yes."

"Even for him?"

"Yes, sir." Sam replied. He was glad that Dr. Rodgers was already aware of G Callen's odd sleeping patterns.

Dr. Rodgers turned to address Nurse Erika, Dr. Kyle and Dr. Waters, "Quit trying to wake him up. We'll leave him alone for now. If the blood tests turn up something, we'll cross that bridge then."

The doctors and nurse nodded compliance and resumed readying Callen for the MRI.

"Sam," Dr. Rodgers began. "If I can get you to go into the control room, we will get this test going."

Sam nodded and went into the room that the Doctor had indicated. He was relieved that the X-Rays had shown no broken bones in G's body. He was hopeful that the MRI would be clear as well. That would mean they could get out of the hospital. That was, if the blood tests came back clear, too.

A small beep came from the cell phone he was carrying. Sam pulled the still blood-stained iPhone out of his pocket and remembered that he had set the alarm to remind him to call Hetty.

Sam typed in Hetty's office phone number. It didn't even ring one full time.

"Speak to me, Sam." Hetty said, all business, voice low and concerned.

"Hetty, they're about to run an MRI, so I need to make this quick." Sam explained. "They can't get G to wake up long enough to see if that concussion is anything to worry about. The two, massive cuts he has are under control. X-Rays were clear, so no broken bones. We're still waiting on blood results to get back."

Hetty was silent for a moment. Then she asked carefully, "Who has access to him right now, Mr. Hanna?"

Sam looked up and out of the control booth at the three doctors and the new nurse, Erika, that were moving around his partner. He replied finally, "People that I trust."

"Very good. Keep it that way, Sam. And hang in there. I am beginning to make progress on this end."

"On a possible mole?"

"You are attentive as always, Mr. Hanna." Hetty answered, her slightly cryptic reply indicating that there was someone nearby that she didn't want to overhear their conversation.

"Good. This scenario is way too familiar for my tastes."

"Mine, as well, Mr. Hanna." Hetty said. "One hour."

"One hour." Sam echoed.

They both hung up. Sam immediately set the alarm on the iPhone. Glancing down as he put the iPhone in his pocket, he realized that he was covered in G's blood. His shirt, his jeans, even parts of his arms. _Ugh, not again!_ Sam bit the inside of his lip and forced himself to look away from his clothes. This really _was_ way too familiar. Nauseatingly so.

Sam focused on the doctors and the nurse who came into the control room to start the test. He would change clothes later. Right now, having G's back was all that mattered.

* * *

He opened his eyes.

Callen wearily looked around without moving his head. He saw Sam sitting beside the bed he was in. He closed his eyes. "Are we where I think we are?" He asked, voice sounding scratchy and exhausted.

Sam tilted his head at his Partner. He replied quietly, humorously, "Depends on where you think we are."

G answered by remaining silent, his eyes closed. Sam could see the little kid who hated hospitals surfacing in him. The "poor me" mantra would be coming up soon. And as long as that was the only level G stayed at, Sam would be okay. But if G went past that into the "no more" frame of mind… It would be best to keep him talking and in the right state of mind, either way.

Sam knew that the question would cause vivid memories of eight, short months ago to spring up, but he had to ask: "How do you feel?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Callen answered tiredly, "I feel a paramounting set of emotions that words can't possibly describe. How's that?" He was bringing out his sarcastic walls to gain a position of control.

Sam allowed himself half a smile and a glance toward the far wall with a slight shake of his head. The sarcasm meant his partner wasn't too injured. A seriously injured G was a silent G; which was scary.

"They cut off my clothes again, didn't they?" G asked, eyes closed, head pounding.

Sam stifled an 'humph.' "You know that's standard operating procedure when you're brought into the ER bleeding. Nothing personal against you."

"I liked that blue shirt." Callen said to himself in a worn-out, reminiscing tone.

"We'll get you another one."

G opened his eyes quickly and a concerned look came over his features. "Nurse De'Shaé." He glanced around the private ER room. "Did she already get me?"

Sam snorted quietly. "If you're still talking to me, she failed."

"Sam." G said in a tone that indicated he wasn't joking. He started slowly looking at his bandaged left arm and his right arm, checking for needle marks, wincing as his left wrist throbbed from the movement.

"No, she didn't get you. She's out on maternity leave." Sam said. "I ordered you a replacement from the third floor. No one has given you anything yet. They drew your blood while you were unconscious."

"Maybe God doesn't hate me, after all." Callen said quietly, still looking at his arms.

Sam stared at him. "Considering your survival rate today, I wouldn't be saying anything about God right now, G."

Another wave of exhaustion swept over G. He stopped moving, putting his head back down on the pillow.

Sam saw this and let him have a few moments of silence. Finally, he asked him, "Do you have any idea who would be baiting you like this? Trying to kill you with traps?"

G stared into the space above the foot of his bed. "Someone good. Someone who knows the way I think… The way we operate… Someone who wants me dead."

Sam let that rest between them. He half hoped that Callen would doze. The boy needed it thanks to his week of barely sleeping. The doctors were close to bringing back the results of the blood tests. Then they would either be told to leave, or they would admit Callen for observation. Sam didn't think they would admit G. Most likely, they would give him something for pain and some antibiotics, and let them go. Sam realized that he would be taking G home with him tonight. His thoughts skipped ahead to what fast food he could get for the two of them to eat. How long ago had breakfast been? _G hasn't eaten at all today; no doubt he's starving. _

Beside him, Callen suddenly began struggling to sit up.

"Whoa, G." Sam leaned forward and placed a large hand on his chest, trying to keep him from getting upright. "Where do you think you're going?"

Callen pushed against Sam weakly. "Stop it, Sam. Time to go."

Sam stood and started using two hands. "G, hold up. We're not going anywhere until your test results get back." He hadn't thought Callen would dive-bomb into his "no more" mode so fast. It had caught him off-guard.

G was trying to push Sam's hands out of the way. Sam had had to do this in the past with G, so he instantly switched to the offense. He was not in the mood for any attitude, especially not from his injured partner. Sam grabbed G's right shoulder and left upper arm and harshly shoved him back down.

The spike in pain that jolted through Callen's aching body made him stop struggling and blink a few times in surprise before training his blue eyes on Sam, silently, and unhappily, asking what that was for.

Sam didn't release him. He held onto him tightly, probably bruising him, sending the message that he was, in fact, the stronger one, and, yes, he was willing to use force to keep him still. Sam's eyes backed up the message, staring firmly at Callen.

G processed things quickly. He hardened his eyes, realizing that he wasn't going to be released for the next few moments even though Sam knew he hated to be handled. He gritted his teeth.

Holding G immobile, Sam lowered his voice and asked, "Why do we need to leave, G?"

Callen's stubbornness gave a couple moments of silence before he responded, "We are sitting ducks here." He tried to shrug Sam's large hands off him, but Sam wouldn't budge, G's efforts leaving prickling pain rippling through him.

"If you mean we aren't a moving target right now, no, we're not." Sam agreed quietly. "But there's no way I'm taking you back to Hetty until you've been cleared." Sam tilted his head. "Do I need to write that out for you?"

Callen looked away from his partner, breathing hard. "Sam." He warned. He was churning inside and he wanted Sam to let him go so he wouldn't do something he'd regret. He knew his Partner got the message, but he still didn't release him.

"G," Sam made his quiet tone a bit louder. "I've got your back."

Silence landed between them.

The words were more powerful than Sam probably meant them to be. Within them was a promise that he wasn't leaving him alone. Within them was a reminder that they'd been through worse. And the words held the proof that Sam really did have his back: he wouldn't let G skip out on getting the treatment he needed, no matter how difficult he was being. G swallowed back his emotions that were pushing against his containment. He felt helpless and he loathed that. Being in a hospital again was too similar to the last time. Too similar… He knew Sam had his back. Sam never failed in loyalty. Callen listened to his own breathing as he stared into a space beside Sam's left shoulder, trying to calm down.

"And, G?" Sam added lowly. "We're staying here. Get me?"

G remained silent, his jaw clenching and unclenching, looking away.

After a few seconds of silence, Sam knew that what he had said had sunk in. He released his partner and sat down again in his chair.

Just then, the door opened and Nurse Erika came in, smiling, with a tray of items and a rolling IV of some sort of clear liquid.

Sam and G looked at her as she came in. Sam dared to look at his partner next. G's ice blue eyes were a pathetic mix of stubbornness and surrender. Sam couldn't help the side of his mouth playing upward.

Erika stopped at the end of G's bed. "Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen." She looked at Callen. "Dr. Rodgers asked me to get you some fluids going." She explained, "Also, there was something strange in your blood, so the lab wants another sample."

G shot a look at his partner before acknowledging the nurse with a rueful nod. He laid back on the pillow, resigned, and stared at the far wall.

Sam smiled at the nurse, standing up, and asked to inspect everything that she had brought with her. Nurse Erika allowed him to do so, not taking any offence. Sam wondered if Dr. Rodgers had warned her. After looking over all of the things she had brought, Sam asked her, "Can one of the doctors verify all that you're needing to do?"

"Sure." Nurse Erika nodded. "I'll get Dr. Kyle. He's right in the hall."

The nurse went to summon Dr. Kyle, allowing the lock-down door to shut behind her.

"Protective much?" G's voice broke into Sam's thoughts.

Sam turned back to his partner. He crossed his arms. "I told you, I've got your back."

Callen nodded once slowly, not smiling, but obviously finding Sam amusing.

* * *

Miss Nora Myers was annoyed. As she walked through archives, she attempted to calm the raging sea inside her. Her thoughts were caught in a vicious cycle, and it was taking all of her training to keep a straight face and do her "work" without bringing attention to herself.

_Of course they would issue a lock-down! _She raged._ And, OF COURSE Agent Callen would survive a two-story drop onto perfectly placed spears! Of COURSE! And, of course, they would be keeping us all here until that little Mistress of the Office decides we can go! _She allowed herself to sigh as she bent down to place three files on the bottom shelf of a large metal bookshelf. _If I could just get this over with. Blast it! He should've been dead three times today! What was the use of the two weeks of spiking his tea with the Paraffalin if it wasn't going to keep him sleep-deprived? And that Cloratriviatin was OBVIOUSLY a waste! He must not have been paralyzed enough to just die with Plan C. Now I have to go to Plan D! And Plan D is too easy and too dangerous. Why? Why, why, why is he so good at surviving? No one has THAT great of luck. No one!_

Miss Nora stood up, keeping her plastic façade up. She returned to the pile of filing that was waiting for her on her supervisor's desk. Her supervisor had said he was going up to the attic to go through boxes of files he had wanted to organize. Picking up three more files, she realized she would have to go to the last row of filing cabinets. She headed that way, being forced to walk next to the metal railing, able to see downstairs.

Then she smelled it.

Pizza.

Her stomach growled as she looked down to the ground floor, wishing to know which of her "co-workers" was the offending individual.

She found them easily: Junior Agent Kensi Blye and the Psychologist were the guilty parties. And that girl was with them, eating happily in the Bull Pen. Looked like Pepperoni. Nora forced herself not to glare down at them. She would be able to eat anything she wanted as soon as she was out of the country. Anything that eight million dollars would buy her, anyway.

She turned the corner to the last row of filing cabinets. She smiled a bit to herself. She knew that she could leave right now, storm the hospital—specially protected ER room or not, and kill Agent Callen. But that would be too easy. Too messy. Not to mention, lacking finesse. Knowing she could end this at any time helped her resolve to stick to the plan. As she had been taught by her old superiors at Pure, sticking to the plan was always the first, best option. Improvising was over-rated, but it had its place when the plan failed.

She filed one of the thick files she held, moving on to the next. _Stick to the plan. Hah. Good thing I have two more flights to India waiting, 'cause that first flight leaves in two minutes. Don't think I'll make it. _Truly, she was annoyed that she was missing her flight… But that's what the backup flights were for: just in case she went through plans A thru D and then had to improvise. When someone pays you eight million dollars to do something, you have the capital to be cautious and have backup plans. Again, something her old superiors at Pure would like. Something that had kept her alive so far: planning further and better than her adversaries.

She finished her filing and began to walk back to her stack. As she passed the offending pizza smell again, she glanced down.

To her surprise, the child was looking up at her. She nearly stopped in her tracks at the look in the girl's eyes. It was as if the girl was trying to figure her out from where she sat on Senior Agent Hanna's desk. The girl suddenly smiled at her and then looked away.

She was pleased to find she hadn't stopped walking or looked panicked. She hadn't smiled back, though. That girl unnerved her. A strong distrust bubbling up inside her.

Getting back to her stack of files, Miss Nora considered her options. She decided that it was always good to plan for the future. Finding her purse, she pulled out her black cell phone. She turned on its high-tech camera.

Picking up a few more files, Miss Nora was suddenly on the phone, talking to no one, but sounding believable. She walked slowly back to the far side of archives, snapping some photos of the girl as she went. She'd had lots of practice taking pictures of far-away items with this phone, so she knew that she had gotten at least two useful pictures. For good measure, she took a few more photos of the teen as she returned to the stack of files.

Finishing her "conversation," she pressed the buttons on her phone that would send the pictures she just took to her private documentation storage online. If anything happened to her, Pure would have the pictures, as well as everything else she'd saved… Including the inner workings of the ones who hired her to kill Agent Callen, and the inner workings of Los Angeles' NCIS Special Ops Unit.

She put the phone to sleep and returned it to her purse. Now, she just had to blend in until she could activate Plan D.


	12. The Truth of Blood

CHAPTER 12 – The Truth of Blood

8:51 P.M.

Sam checked his watch. Time was crawling by.

Callen, exhausted, had fallen asleep, leaving Sam with no one to talk to. But this wasn't a bad thing. Sam was actually quite pleased with that fact. Even the time crawling by was okay, because each second signaled that G was getting rest he badly needed.

Sam quietly repositioned himself in his chair. To his relief, his moves were silent. He knew from experience that movement from him would wake up his partner. It wasn't that G heard him moving from in his deep sleep; it was more like Callen's subconscious was geared to hear when Sam was leaving the room. Like a mother trying to leave the bedroom of a sick child that desperately didn't want to be alone, it was nearly impossible to leave Callen when he was resting without any drugs assisting him. It had been a difficult couple of months right after G had taken five rounds. Sam had learned to time his trips to the cafeteria and restroom to whenever G had just been drugged, that way he would be back when G would come to. In some unspoken way, it seemed to be a great relief to Callen whenever he woke up and Sam had been sitting there. Sam had let it slide unmentioned and just filed away what he knew. It was coming in handy today.

An hour and a half ago, the three doctors had returned, Nurse Erika at their heels. Dr. Rodgers had told them that they needed to re-bandage Callen's wrist to aid the healing. And since there was something strange in the Senior Agent's blood results and they still weren't sure what it was, they would use a topical pain killer, saving the "good stuff" for after his blood results were cleared.

Sam had seen the look in G's eyes, the undercurrent one that begged to be murdered rather than have to deal with anything these four were going to do to him. Sam had asked to inspect everything they were going to use on Callen, giving his partner a little time to mentally prepare himself. It hadn't helped much, but it had been enough of a break for Callen to find his sense of humor.

G joked a little, tiredly, with the doctors as they worked on his wrist. Dr. Rodgers was perfectly willing to keep things gently light as he worked.

Sam watched G carefully for any indication he was in pain. As usual, Callen kept his lower pain levels to himself, face unreadable. At one point, the pain of checking the positioning of his main wrist veins made him wince, which faded quickly as the doctors knew that it was painful and did their job quickly. Aside from that moment, G seemed alright.

Five minutes after that, they had finished. As the doctors were leaving, Callen had asked Dr. Rodgers if he was hydrated enough yet, pointing wearily to the needle on the back of his right hand.

Sam stifled a grin over how much his partner hated IVs.

Dr. Rodgers didn't stifle his grin, at all; walking out, smiling knowingly, without answering.

Sam had leaned toward G and said in a fake whisper, "That means no."

Callen had looked at him, acknowledging him, but not finding the strength to do more than that.

It had been only a few more minutes before G had begun to doze. Sam had allowed himself to be amused at the next ten minutes of his partner fighting sleep and losing.

Now, Sam watched his partner rest for awhile, lost in thoughts. He realized with a silent start that it was nearing the time when he would have to report to Hetty. He dug the iPhone out of his pocket. Turning it on, he realized his mental alarm had gone off a few minutes before the phone's alarm had. A Navy SEAL thing. For sure.

Sam glanced at G, taking in how well his partner was resting. He didn't want to move (which would wake him up), nor did he want to call Hetty from where he sat (which would also wake Callen), so he settled on sending his petite boss a text message.

Sam took a moment to turn the phone to silent in every way he possibly could, being sure that the vibrate function was even disabled. As he began to type out a message on the screen, he was grateful that the phone had no buttons to click, only a silent screen to touch.

_Hetty-  
G is asleep. Blood results had to be retested. Something strange in it. Started him on fluids. We're good for now. Don't know when we can leave._

Sending the text message, Sam knew that if Hetty Lange had any questions she would ask. He relaxed again in his chair, watching his partner breathe slowly.

It wasn't two minutes before the reply text came:

_Sent clothes via currier for you both. At the desk outside your room. Retrieve when you are able. ~H.  
_

Sam smiled at the phone. Only Hetty would be considerate enough to make sure that they had a clean change of clothes to leave the hospital in. He had decided earlier that when G was cleared, he would run down to the shopping area of the hospital and get Callen something to wear. He was just going to cope with bloody clothes until he got home and could take a hot shower. Of course Hetty had considered these things for him. The lady was her own brand of super hero.

There was a soft, sudden knock at the door, before it was opened slowly to admit Dr. Rodgers.

Sam glanced at G and realized that he was still unconscious, miraculously, as if he heard nothing.

Dr. Rodgers took in that the Senior Agent was asleep. He walked over to Sam quietly, being careful to keep his noise down.

Refusing to be the sound that woke Callen, Sam stayed seated, greeting the physician with a nod and an expectant look.

Dr. Rodgers stopped a few feet from where Sam sat and watched Callen for a few moments. He seemed surprised that the Senior Agent was still sleeping with him in the room.

Dr. Rodgers looked at Sam, asking quietly in a hushed tone, "How long has he been asleep?"

Sam answered easily, being equally quiet, "About an hour and five minutes."

The doctor raised an eyebrow at Sam's precise timing.

Sam didn't care if he believed him or not. Navy SEALs counted time better than most astronauts did. Sam hadn't been able to disengage that particular set of training after joining NCIS, so he'd just embraced it.

Dr. Rodgers crossed his arms. "Well, he needs it, then." The doctor looked at Sam. "The second set of blood tests came back." The doctor's face became puzzled. "There was a strange compound in his system. A mix of two individual drugs: Paraffalin and Cloratriviatin. Paraffalin is a stimulant, and it's strange because it's is not approved in the United States for use. It would be nearly impossible to find, for that matter. And the—"

"Hold up." Sam interrupted lowly. "G had a stimulant in his system? You mean like caffeine?"

"Yes. Except Paraffalin works in a different way than caffeine; it basically tells your body you don't need sleep. That's why it's not allowed in the U.S... It's dangerous. If a person has too much for too long, they'll simply have a heart attack and die."

Sam couldn't help the concern on his face. _How did Callen get that nasty stuff in his system?_ He wondered. "Is he in danger?" He asked, glancing toward Callen, who was still out, breathing evenly.

Dr. Rogers shook his head. "No. The levels in his system were moderate, but not dangerous. My lab techs are telling me that he's been ingesting this regularly for at least two weeks."

Sam looked at his partner's sleeping form. He knew that Callen would never take anything like what the doctor was describing. The alternative that Sam was concluding was chilling. Callen had been purposefully drugged. _But, by who?_

The doctor continued. "If we were wondering why he was low on sleep, this would be why… The only reason he's asleep right now is because he hasn't had a dose today, and his body is injured."

Sam realized with concern that this explained G Callen's recent behavior quite well. Besides being a tad on the irritable side for the past week, he had been pacing more than normal at the office, and he seemed to alternate between an upset silence and an off sense of humor. _He hasn't had a dose today…_ Sam tensed and asked the doctor. "Withdrawals?"

"Just like any other drug." Dr. Rodgers gave a small shrug, arms still crossed. "It can be as simple as feeling a bit under the weather, or as extreme as cravings, shaking, or hallucinations." Sam took in what the doctor was saying with growing unease. The doctor went on, "Then again, with the Cloratriviatin that was leaving his system, we may have already seen the worst."

"Cloratriviatin?" Sam repeated.

"That was the other compound that was in Callen's blood. It's another drug that's not available for use in the U.S." The doctor explained, motioning with a hand at Sam. "Cloratriviatin is a paralyzing agent that must be inhaled to be effective. It simply causes the person to become unable to move. It was being tested awhile back as a safe means to take over a city during warfare, but I believe it was banned because it allows for an elevated heart rate. Again, a person exposed could become so agitated that their heart races until it eventually stops."

The dark-skinned agent looked over at his partner, almost rejecting what he was hearing. G slept on, oblivious. Sam crossed his arms and asked lowly, "How much of that was in his system?"

"Enough to last four to six hours. We caught it about an hour in. The second blood sample helped us narrow down the time when it would be out of his system." The doctor paused, then said darkly, "Sam, he was exposed while you two were at that house where he got injured. The timing is almost perfect."

_Someone's playing with us. G must've inhaled the stuff during his fall. I thought that haze was sheetrock dust. Guess it wasn't._ Sam bit the inside of his lip and inhaled. He exhaled slowly; thinking of how much this looked like someone inside NCIS was behind this. Remembering that G's health was his first priority, Sam looked up at the doctor. "What's the plan, Doc?"

Dr. Rodgers sighed softly. "I'll take one more blood sample to check levels. We'll go ahead with the Tetanus update and give him a dose of antibiotics. I'd like to keep him on fluids for another hour or so, as well as get him some decent pain meds."

Sam nodded. "Are you wanting to admit him?"

Dr. Rodgers gave a small smile. "Yes and no. If he were admitted, I wouldn't have to worry about him injuring himself again tonight. But, in all honesty, he would probably rest better at home than here. He'll need to be watched for the next twenty-four hours, due to that concussion. His body is trying to heal from a lot, and I bet he's going to be sore from that fall for the next several days. What he needs most right now is rest."

Sam looked at Callen. "I'll make sure he gets it." He said, tone promising he would. He knew he wouldn't be letting Callen out of his sight for the next forty-eight hours. _Not after what we've been through today..._

Dr. Rodgers moved to pat Sam on his shoulder. "I'll try to help you by keeping him drugged for the next twenty-four hours."

"I appreciate that, Doc."

Dr. Rodgers nodded. "Don't mention it. I'll dose him well for tonight, either way."

"Remember no codeine, Doc." Sam reminded quietly.

"How could I forget?" Dr. Rodgers said. He then headed for the door, saying amusedly under his breath, "Never seen a reaction like that in my life."

* * *

Hetty felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, indicating a text message. She nonchalantly left her desk to walk into the entryway of Headquarters where she knew that no one could spy on her.

Bringing up her phone a seeing that she was right in her assumption that it was Sam reporting in brought her a great relief.

_Hetty-_

_G's blood results: had Paraffalin and Cloratriviatin in system. Both not available in USA. Para = stimulant, had been ingested 2 weeks at least. Clora = paralyzing agent, was breathed at Kait's house. Doctor will release G tonight/ orders R&R, must be watched. Giving Tetanus, antibiotics, & pain relief. Testing blood again. I think G was drugged. Thx for the clothes._

As Hetty read the text, cold came over her and her breathing quickened. This was her Head Agent! Someone had drugged him! The anger raced through her, combining with her anxiety. She forced herself to think clearly as she replied to Sam:

_Watch his back. ~H._

She sent the message and closed her phone. She stared at the entryway floor for a few moments. It was stained concrete. A beautiful brown color. She stared into its glossy depths mulling over the conundrum of where this attack had originated. She knew that it simply had to be someone inside NCIS, but who? Her hours of trying to turn up something suspicious, or _someone_ suspicious, had been near fruitless.

Then the thought came: _the tea._

Her heart raced as she realized it was the _only_ way someone could easily drug Agent Callen for two weeks straight, without him knowing it.

She smiled to herself grimly. She knew where to look.

Returning quickly to her desk, the Queen of the Office started combing through the video feed for the coffee area.

* * *

_Callen walked by himself through the small town. He wasn't surprised that there wasn't anyone around. It wasn't that it was a ghost town… there just weren't any people. He didn't think there were any nearby, either. His senses were at peace. As he walked the gravel streets, he simply relaxed. He wasn't being hunted, pursued, or targeted. He was safe here. He didn't know where "here" was, but that was hardly bothersome. This was just one more place to see. One more place to visit. He didn't care how he'd gotten here, he was just glad he was. He was so tired. It was if he had been running for days from terror, and this was his first opportunity to be free from it all._

_The sun was getting lower and lower in the sky. Now it was in his eyes, to where he had to squint to keep it from blinding him. The lush green grass and huge oak trees that lined the streets were a comforting sight._

_Callen walked on. Wearily, but relaxed._

_He passed small mom and pop shops. He passed an old elementary school. He passed a picturesque church with a white steeple. He passed houses. There wasn't a soul around. No animals, either._

_Normally, it would've alarmed him. But he knew that he was safe here. It was okay to let his guard down._

_He continued walking at his near-trudging pace. The sun was beginning to set and it was setting the sky on fire. Beautiful oranges were dancing off the sparse clouds in the blue sky. The dance was lovely. _

_He stopped to admire it. After a few moments of silence and the orange being joined by a dark pink color, Callen decided to look around for a place to sit._

_He realized he was standing in a playground with large swings and a tall slide, monkey bars and a teeter-totter. A young, teenage girl was sitting on one of the three swings. She was watching the sunset. Her shoulder-length brunette hair blew away from her face with the evening breeze. She was wearing a simple outfit of blue jeans and a white t-shirt and Converse shoes._

_G was a little surprised to see her because he knew he had been alone a minute ago, but a familiar feeling fell on him as he saw her. He knew her. She could be trusted. He had trusted her before. The feeling made him realize he had known her from before. They were friends._

_He walked over to the swing next to her and sat down. He was comfortable with the silence between them and knew that she was, as well._

_They both stared at the setting sun and the vibrant colors it was painting the sky for long minutes._

"_Did you get lost?" She asked, finally breaking the silence. Her tone wasn't playing. She had been concerned about him. She kept her eyes on the sunset._

_Callen glanced at her, but answered after he looked back at the sunset. "Nah. You know me and shortcuts."_

_She smiled a bit. "You need new shortcuts." She motioned hand at the sunset. "You nearly missed it."_

_Callen allowed himself a small smile. "Next time." He said. Getting lost in the colors and the silence, he relaxed further. _

_The girl said quietly, "You worked too hard again, G Callen. You're tired."_

_G smiled at the way the girl said his name; she was calling him his full name because it was a joke between them. "Nah." He said, looking away from the sunset to glance at her. He found her dark, brown eyes staring a dare at him to deny it. He met her gaze with his blue eyes and raised an eyebrow. She didn't budge. He finally conceded, "Maybe."_

_The brown-haired girl took a deep breath and started swinging slightly on her swing as she looked back at the sunset. "If you burn yourself out, who will play tennis with me?" She shook her head once. "Not Sam."_

_G looked back at the sunset, smile turning into a smirk. That was the truth: Sam would never be able to play tennis with her as well as he did. Callen realized that those were some of his happiest memories, sneaking away from work to play tennis with the girl who had snuck away from her schoolwork to play with him. He knew that he had beaten her many times, but he also knew that she had beaten him, too._

_They watched the sunset in peace. G relished the quiet and the rest from work. He was glad she had waited for him, even though he had been late._

"_Don't you have to get back?" She asked, looking at him, slightly wrinkling her forehead in concern. _

_G looked at her and wondered. When did he need to be back at the office? He couldn't remember._

"_I think I hear them calling you…" She said, tilting her head._

_Callen listened. He heard nothing._

_Then, a faint whisper on the wind called his name: "Callen!"_

_He was about to congratulate her on hearing something so quiet, but his world suddenly began to go black. Everything around him faded and was replaced with a red-black pain. He wanted to call her name, but realized that he didn't know what it was._

"G!"

_The voice shocked him toward consciousness. _

He opened his eyes to find that there were several people all around him, all over him. He was quick to pick up on that there was panic around him, and he heard himself cry out before he fully felt the pain. He was struggling against them.

A voice overrode the panic around him: "G! Relax!"

Sam's voice. And he wasn't panicking; he was _ordering_.

G didn't want to do what Sam was suggesting, but in a split-second, he did, knowing that he trusted his partner completely, even though the fear of what was going on was trying to claw itself out of his chest. Callen forced himself to go limp underneath the hands and the people who were restraining him.

Sam's voice returned: "Be _still_, G!"

Just then, pain in his right arm shocked through him afresh. He let out a pained noise and looked to see what was happening to his arm. He was shocked to see blood everywhere, and covering the hands of a young lady that was trying to stop his bleeding with bandages.

Seeing the blood and the young lady, Callen remembered despairingly that he was in the hospital. He had been struggling against the doctors and nurse that were trying to… do something.

A strong hand clasped his left shoulder. Callen looked and saw Sam looking at him, concern filling his eyes.

"You with us?" Sam asked loudly.

Callen said "Yes-" just as another wave of sticking pain pulsed through his right arm, just inside his elbow, and brought adrenaline with it. He sucked in air and fought his instinct to pull his right arm away from the doctors and nurse, looking back to see what was causing the pain.

Sam squeezed his shoulder hard. "She was trying to drawing your blood, G." Sam explained. "You twisted away from her in your sleep and did that."

G winced as the doctors were checking his veins. He looked back toward his large partner. He hissed out air. He finally said through the desire to pull away from them, "That hurts."

Sam was silent but held onto G's shoulder tightly.

The minutes wore on as the doctors and nurse got the bleeding under control. G was painfully aware that the wound was not just on the surface while they worked. The inside of his right arm throbbed. He hated needles. He did. He thought about that fact while he tried to get his breathing under control.

Sam didn't release him until two of the doctors moved away from him. The Ex-SEAL didn't leave the side of his bed, tensely watching everything.

Dr. Rodgers and the nurse finally began bandaging the site.

Sam noticed that it was at that point that G seemed to sink into the bed, tiredly.

Dr. Rodgers straightened from bandaging Callen, saying jokingly, "I bet you're ready for that pain medication now."

G kept a poker face as he replied, "Only if you can give it to me without injecting it."

Sam knew he was dead serious.

Dr. Rodgers nodded once. "I can give you the pain medication without having to inject you with it." The older man glanced at the nurse who looked slightly repentant. "Unfortunately, we still need a blood sample."

G glared at the doctor. "You have plenty of my blood already." He glanced down at the bed's bloody sheets and back.

Sam and Dr. Rodgers shared a look.

Dr. Rodgers gave Sam a nod and moved away from the bed.

Sam leaned in closer to G and lowered his voice. "G, you need to cooperate with Doc—"

Callen interrupted, training his blue eyes on his partner, "_You_ cooperate with him! You know I hate needles!"

Sam nodded patiently, exhaling. "I know. Now, do you wanna go home, or not?"

Callen narrowed his eyes, not being fooled by Sam's tactics. "What's it going to take?"

Sam bowed his head for a moment before meeting G's eyes again. "Four vials of blood, a Tetanus shot, and taking out your IV."

G thought it through. He could hear the doctors and nurse preparing to do what Sam was saying, either way. Callen breathed out forcefully. "And that's it? What about that pain medication?"

Dr. Rodgers came up beside Sam, answering with a partial smile, "I promise, we won't stick you again for that, or the antibiotics."

Callen searched Dr. Rodgers for a hint of lying. There was none. He looked away from the doctor and Sam, muttering, "I _hate_ needles."

Sam gave the doctor a look that encouraged him to get things done fast.

Dr. Rodgers took the blood-drawing kit and began preparing Callen's left arm. At the same time, Dr. Kyle came over to G's right side and prepared the upper portion of his arm for a Tetanus injection.

Sam watched them both carefully. G's poker face was back in place as he stared at the far wall.

Dr. Kyle finished the Tetanus shot about two seconds before Dr. Rodgers began drawing G's blood. Sam was relieved that G wasn't showing any signs that he was being hurt. He didn't know what to expect from his partner, but he was glad it was turning out to be silence.

Dr. Rodgers finished drawing four vials of Callen's blood and walked around Callen's bed, easily handing the vials off to Nurse Erika, who handed him two more syringes.

G saw and protested accusingly, "You said no more!"

Dr. Rodgers uncapped the first syringe. "I said I wouldn't stick you again, and I won't." The doctor stepped next to Callen's IV line and held it up to show Callen. It had a port in it.

G didn't smile, but Sam saw that his eyes held some relief in them.

The doctor hooked the syringe to the IV and began emptying it slowly, telling them, "This is the pain medication. It's that strong stuff we used the last time you were here. It should help you to get some decent rest tonight and keep you comfortable tomorrow."

Alarm filled Callen's eyes as he listened. "You mean that stuff that kept me out-of-it for days?" G looked at his partner, wanting to know if Sam had known.

Sam looked at him with his own poker face on.

G managed to give him the death glare through the first wave of the pain medication hitting his system. The look quickly left his face as the tranquil feeling that the drug produced overcame his barriers. The extreme tiredness followed quickly, reducing him to a barely-awake state in seconds.

Sam, pleased with himself in an almost maternal way, smiled slightly at G.

Callen was too far gone to care.

Dr. Rodgers finished giving G the pain medication and then quickly switched the syringe at the IV port to the antibiotics. He gave them slowly to Callen, telling Sam, "He will be ready to leave, consciousness-wise, in about thirty minutes. I'll have the pain pills for tomorrow ready for you by then."

Sam nodded. It was late, and he was ready to have G tucked in so he could get some sleep. It had been some day. Glancing down at G, he found his partner wasn't fighting the drugs anymore. He was out.


	13. Face of Obedience

CHAPTER 13 - Face of Obedience

12:45 A.M.

G had been asleep for thirty minutes—now I.V. free—when Sam decided it was time to change clothes, readying for the trip from the hospital to his home.

The large agent quietly retrieved the clothes that Hetty had sent for both of them from the nurse's desk outside of their ER room. He then made use of the bathroom in Callen's private room to change clothes. Putting on a brand new pair of black jeans and a long sleeve maroon cotton shirt, which fit perfectly, Sam thought over the day.

Somewhere between the time when the girl had said that G was about to be shot, and the point where he was following the ambulance that carried his partner to the hospital, Sam had decided that he was very tired. _But,_ his mind intoned, _a true Navy SEAL didn't believe in tired. Tired was an excuse. Just a ploy to show weakness. _Sam nearly laughed as he washed his Navy SEAL watch, his hands, and his arms in the sink, removing G's dried blood from his skin. Thinking that stuff was an old habit. Another ex-SEAL habit that needed to be released. Maybe.

Sam gathered and folded his bloodied clothes into a neat pile and returned to the room where Callen slept. He put the clothes in a small stack on the floor by his chair and sat to put on the shoes that Hetty had sent. Tying the laces, he glanced at his partner. He allowed himself a half-smile. He was somewhat pleased that Callen was so drugged. A drugged, _injured_ Callen was easier to control than a drugged, _normal _Callen. _Or, a drunk Callen, for that matter..._ Sam didn't like to mentally visit any of the occurrences of the past that gave him the facts to be able to think that so vehemently. Those individual events, the ones that had tested his loyalty to G, needed to stay filed. The emotional point that every one of those past events brought him to was always one of simple gratitude. They were okay. They were fine. They lived to tell the tale. They lived to keep the tale away from their teammates. They both were a little bit wiser and a little bit more careful with their friendship. Sam shook his head. There was nothing wrong with counting blessings, either past or present. After the day they had just been through, the blessings far outweighed the trials. His naturally optimistic outlook was finally returning to him.

Sam sat back in the chair and exhaled slowly, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. He lost himself in watching his partner breath slowly. It was shaping up to be a quiet night. Finally.

Dr. Rodgers came into the room about fifteen minutes later. He wasn't followed by the usual entourage; he was by himself. The older doctor came over to where Sam sat.

Sam tiredly stood in greeting.

The doctor held out an orange, transparent bottle with pills in it. "His pain medication, Mr. Hanna." Dr. Rodgers said, with a half-smile. Sam took the bottle from him. The doctor continued, "That's enough of a supply to last tomorrow and the next day. I know he won't take them all, but if for some reason he does and you need more, just get in touch."

Sam smiled a bit and agreed, "That's a long-shot, Doc, but if he does, I will."

The doctor looked at Callen who was still resting, undisturbed by either of the men talking at normal voice levels.

"Make sure he sleeps... If his body doesn't return to some form of regular rest, he's going to have to come see me again. Oh—" Dr. Rodgers turned back to Sam. "If any weird withdrawals show up, don't hesitate to get in contact with me. His system should be returning to normal over the next seventy-two hours."

Sam nodded in understanding. He turned the bottle of pills over in his hand, glancing at them. He asked, "So, is he clear to leave?"

Dr. Rodgers smiled and nodded. "It's late. Get him to a decent bed. I'll have the wheelchair and nurse waiting outside the door. You know the drill."

"Got it." Sam said. "Thanks for everything, Doc."

The older man smiled and nodded once in reply. Then he left, leaving Sam to wake G and help him get into his new clothes.

Luckily, Callen was agreeable; a side-effect of the drugs, Sam was sure. All it took was Sam encouraging G to wake up so they could leave the hospital, and G was sluggishly moving to get up and get dressed, murmuring something about how Hetty was genius and that the room was spinning slightly.

Sam stayed near him to keep him from toppling over, which he nearly did twice, and assisted him whenever he needed help with his new outfit: jeans, a short-sleeved, pullover, dark blue cotton shirt, a light and dark blue, long-sleeved, thin, dress shirt for wearing over the other shirt, and regular tennis shoes.

The shoes proved to be most difficult, the smaller man trying several times to get them on without falling. G finally got so frustrated with the shoes and his lack of balance that he sat on the bed and glared down at them. Sam patiently knelt down and got the shoes to behave, being sure not to show outwardly how amusing it was when G was reduced to a child's abilities and he didn't like it.

Soon after, Sam handed G his watch, billfold, and keys. Then he went to the door of the room and had Nurse Erika bring the wheelchair in.

From that point, getting G loaded into the Challenger was a simple matter.

Sam thanked Nurse Erika for her hard work which she modestly accepted before encouraging them to stay safe.

When Sam finally climbed into the black car, it felt like he hadn't been sitting in it for days. He relished the sensation of being in his car with his partner beside him. Still alive and safe. He couldn't wait to get them both to his home so they could get some decent rest.

"Where we goin'?" G asked into the silence wearily, his tone slightly off.

"My place." Sam said quietly, guiding the car through the hospital's parking lots. They were surprisingly full of vehicles despite the hour of night.

"I need my stuff from Headquarters." G said tiredly.

"Are you talking about your bedroll stuff?" Sam asked, hearing the exhaustion in his own voice, but knowing G would miss it with how drugged he was.

"Yeah." Was all G said, sounding like he was going to sleep.

"G," Sam began, "We can leave it for tonight—"

"It's on the way." G said, sounding even closer to sleep, but not losing his desire for his way.

"Yeah, but we need to get you to bed."

Beside him, G turned weakly to look at him. "Sam." Was all he said.

Sam glanced at him and shook his head. "No, G. You are incredibly drugged. I'm taking you home. No stops anywhere. Get me?"

G managed to narrow his eyes. "Where's my gun?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "In the trunk. Why?"

"I need it."

"For what?" Sam asked, trying to be patient with his partner.

"To point at your head until you take me to get my stuff."

Sam let out a tired laugh, though he wasn't really amused. It was the drugs talking. The boy wanted his way. As usual. "You aren't just incredibly drugged. You're also incredibly annoying, you know that?"

"If we get my stuff, I promise to be… amicable."

"Did you really just use 'amicable' in a sentence at this hour? While drugged? Seriously, G…"

Callen took in a breath and repeated his request: "Sam, my stuff."

"G, it's nearly one a.m.! You can do without your stuff for tonight." _Please don't make us stop. You're on my last nerve as it is…_

Next to him, G sat up straighter and moved to open his door.

"WHOA!" Sam raised his voice and put out the hand that wasn't steering the car. "What the heck are you doin', G?"

G stopped for the moment and trained drugged eyes on his partner. Somehow he managed to create a dire look on his face. "Amicable or even more annoying, Sam? Choose." G's drugged voice had an upset snap to it.

Sam held his breath unconsciously as he tried to decide if it was worth it to defy G and continue home, or the alternative. Unfortunately, he kept returning to the fact that G made a terrible patient, no matter how drugged he was. A _purposefully_ bad attitude would make the entire situation much worse. He finally asked lowly, "What if I call up to the office and see if Kensi or Nate has left yet and ask them to bring your stuff to my place?"

G just stared at him.

"G." Sam switched to his version of pleading again. "I'm tired. You're tricked out. The office is probably shut down and locked already. It's been a rough day. Let's just get to my house and get your stuff tomorrow."

"Sam." G's entire argument was wrapped seventy times into that one word. He refused to back down.

Sam sighed, frustrated. It was at times like this that Kensi's jokes about them being a married couple were too close to the truth. This argument would last forever. Was it really that terrible to stop by HQ on the way home? It was looking like a better idea by the minute.

G watched him, silently, with hazy, worn out blue eyes.

Sam took a deep breath. "Fine. Alright. We'll go." Sam glanced over at his partner just in time to see G half-smile and sink down into the passenger seat, contentedly, closing his eyes and relaxing. Sam narrowed his eyes in the low light, struck suddenly by an idea. "But there's a deal in this arrangement…"

G barely stirred.

Sam continued, "You will not resist anything I ask you to do for the next three days. You hearin' me, G?"

"'Three days'?" G repeated quietly without opening his eyes. "How 'bout one?"

"Nope. If this deal's gonna work, you have to give me three days. In that amount of time, we can have you healed up and ready for work, or…"

G took the bait in his drugged state, turning his head to look at him with barely-open eyes. "'Or' what?"

The relish that Sam spoke with he knew wouldn't go unnoticed by his partner, no matter how drugged he was: "I'll turn you over to Hetty."

G narrowed his eyes and filled his voice with a muted accusation. "You wouldn't."

"Watch me." Sam dared. "Deal, G?"

The few seconds of hesitation gave way to a small, "Fine."

Sam smiled as he drove. He didn't have the agreement audio-recorded, but it was good enough for him. This meant that he could force G to take his pain meds without much of an argument, _and_ he could force him to rest and sleep. _Maybe getting his stuff was the best idea he's had all day._ Sam thought to himself, pleased.

* * *

Hetty was angry. A controlled angry, yes, but still it was a form of very mad. Over the last few hours, as she had narrowed her employee suspects down to two individuals, she had become frustrated, then annoyed with the fact that she had allowed someone so terrible to work in her office.

The only way she could calm herself down was to tell herself that Callen was not permanently damaged. He would recover… But then, recovery wouldn't come easy if Callen felt he was being pursued… And this caused her to worry. Hetty turned it all over in her mind as she worked. Over and over again. Going from annoyance to worry. It made her nauseous.

And this was on top of a possible breach. If someone had slipped in, gained access to their protocols, files, and personnel, there was always the chance that some organization outside of the government knew things about her Special Ops Unit that shouldn't be known.

One thought caught her off-guard: _It's entirely my fault._ _This happened on my watch, under my nose. _

She stopped working on her computer to take a deep, steadying breath. She couldn't help the scowl that she was giving the screen in front of her. It _was_ her fault. Mr. Callen, Mr. Hanna, Ms. Blye, Mr. Getz, Mr. Beale… they were not just her team to oversee from a distance. They were a very strange form of family. She ground her teeth for a few moments. She had been careless. There was no excuse for allowing someone dangerous into their midst.

Going back to work, studying her two suspects, Hetty finally found the missing piece she was looking for: the suspect that had never spoken to Mr. Callen directly. It was a fact that stood one suspect out over the other. The other had joked with Agent Callen on one occasion at the coffee bar about the weather. She had the video-taped proof. The other suspect had avoided him at all costs. Several times.

Hetty narrowed her eyes at the computer screen. This was the woman who had drugged Agent Callen.

The worry for her Senior Agent and the annoyance she felt finally met within her and formed a white-hot anger.

At long last seeing the responsible person's face, and looking at her own file's hiring comments was enough for her to want to lose it, but Hetty had always prided herself in her calm. She wouldn't be losing it now. She had hired this person pleased with the woman's ability to concentrate and work history, both of which she had commented on. It made her sick.

Hetty set her face. There was work to be done.

She carefully stood up and headed to her black, seldom-used, corner safe.

* * *

"Good news, Joy!" Nate said, looking up from his cell phone from where he sat at Kensi's desk to the teenager and Kensi, who were in the middle of a riveting game of Uno. "You get to go home soon."

Joy looked at him from where she sat in Agent Hanna's desk chair. Kensi did the same from sitting on top of Hanna's desk. "I will?" Joy asked, surprised.

"She will?" Kensi echoed.

Nate nodded, "Yep. Just got word from the boss." He showed them his black cell phone, casually holding it between two fingers. "Well, actually, got word awhile back… I just now saw it." Nate cleared his throat and speeded on, "She said to make sure you understand what a Civilian Informant is."

Joy became thoughtful in her tired state while Kensi looked at Nate questioningly.

Nate answered Kensi by nodding his head, smiling. Hetty would be having one of them take the girl home soon.

Kensi raised her eyebrows and looked back at the young teen, slightly surprised Hetty was going through with her plan. Then again, Hetty always was surprising, coming up with intelligent ways to deal with situations that would have others puzzled for days. If the boss said this girl was clear, then she was. Hetty was never wrong.

"A 'Civilian Informant' is…" Joy began, and then her brown eyes became confused. She looked at Nate. "…Someone who gives information to the police, but isn't a police officer."

Nate nodded at her and then began the process of explaining: "That's right. A person who helps an organization, but isn't exactly in the organization. This protects both the person and the organization. The person usually has to keep secrets to be able to help the organization, and then tells them when they know something that will help them out. In this case, we're talking about knowing about someone or some place that needs to be kept a secret, because if that person talks, it could be very dangerous. The organization could be compromised."

Joy blinked at him blankly. She was obviously not getting it.

Kensi smiled, trying not to laugh at Nate's botched attempt to explain to the teenager. She broke in, "Joy, we're making you a Civilian Informant because you've helped us today… But you've been to our offices… Offices that no one knows exist. And you've met us… And we're people who don't exist."

Joy's look became very serious. "Why don't you? Exist, I mean?" She swallowed then asked quietly, "Is it because you… you…"

Kensi shook her head, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We work for the Government, Joy. We're not bad guys." Leaning back at Joy's relieved look, Kensi continued, "See, we need to be protected. Civilian Informants know we exist, but don't tell others about us. Because of that, we trust our Civilian Informants like friends, to tell us what they know if we need them to…" Kensi let out a short laugh. "We don't have many, actually. It's so dangerous for us to trust someone..."

Joy wrinkled her nose, slightly confused. "So, if I'm going to be a Civilian Informant for you guys… what do I have to do?"

"Quite simply?" Kensi said, "We need you to not tell anyone about us. We need to continue to _not_ exist. To be living human ghosts."

Joy thought about this, then asked, "Do you guys save innocent people like police?"

Kensi and Nate traded a look.

Kensi then answered, "Yes, sometimes." Kensi inhaled and exhaled as Dom flashed through her mind painfully. "And sometimes we're too late to save people…"

Nate saw the hurt look in Kensi's mismatched eyes, and covered for her. "We stop whatever bad guys we can, Joy."

Joy nodded, eyes full of concentration. "Then, I want to help you. I won't tell anyone about you. I'll keep your secrets. I'll pretend to myself that today was a dream. That way you will be ghosts even to me."

Nate smiled. "If you can just keep from telling your family and friends about us, it will suffice."

"Joy, do you know what 'plausible deniability' is?" Kensi asked her.

Joy shook her head.

Kensi proceeded to tell Joy about how to protect what she knew about the team without telling a lie. By covering herself with innocent questions, meant to deflect probing for answers more than to distract.

The young teen nodded and took the entire conversation with the amount of seriousness that spoke trust to the Junior Agent and Psychologist. Unknown to them, they thought the exact same thing at nearly the same time: _Hetty was right about her._

* * *

Sam pulled the black Challenger into the driveway of Headquarters smoothly and parked right outside the front door. It was a spot that he took as his own most days.

Glancing over to his partner while he undid his seatbelt, he realized G wouldn't be coming in.

G was asleep, leaned deep into his chair that was slightly reclined, head tilted away from Sam, looking years younger than his actual age while unconscious. His breathing was even and his hands were folded in his lap. G's right arm and right leg were slightly straighter due to the bandages underneath his clothes. His left wrist was carefully turned where it lay to keep pressure off of his wrist wound.

Sam knew from all the stake-outs they'd been on together, and all of the times G had crashed at his place for the night, G never "rested" with his hands touching. No, Callen's hands touching each other was a sure sign that he felt safe and he was actually sleeping. The alternative was "ready hands", Callen's way of resting with his hands far apart so that if he was jumped while napping he could pose a threat to whoever was doing the jumping.

Sam pursed his lips at his partner in the dark. All that arguing over stopping by Headquarters and G didn't even have the decency to stay awake. _Typical. _Sam half-smiled tiredly after thinking the thought. He really wasn't upset. He was glad Callen felt safe for the first time in hours. He needed to rest.

The bigger agent double-checked the temperature in the car, making sure it wasn't too cool for his wounded partner, before climbing out.

After closing his door slowly, Sam looked back in at G. He was mildly surprised to find the man hadn't moved. G was still in the same place, breathing the same way.

Once again reassured that the night would be quiet, Sam moved toward the doors of NCIS Special Operations Headquarters. Trying the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked.

_It's nearly two in the morning! What's going on? Surely they aren't still trying to track the ones after G…_

Sam entered to find Headquarters still lit and functioning. Almost every single employee was moving around, continuing work. Sam was a bit stunned. Had Hetty ordered a lock-down? It looked like it.

"Sam!" A female voice called out to him.

He turned looking for who had called him and saw Kensi, Nate, and the girl from that morning coming out of the Bull Pen to greet him. They all three looked tired, but pleased to see him. He walked the rest of the distance to them.

Kensi asked the obvious question first, "Where's Callen?"

Sam grunted. "In the car. Asleep. He demanded I pick up his stuff before taking his butt home."

Nate frowned. "That's strange."

The other three looked at him.

Nate explained, "He doesn't have that much of an attachment to things… Usually…"

Sam shrugged. "He's drugged."

Kensi smiled. "Enough said."

Nate seemed to relax in agreement.

Sam's eyes landed on the teenage girl who was looking at him. She smiled.

Kensi noticed Sam's hesitation. "Sam, this is Joy Garcia. Hetty has made her a Civilian Informant for us."

Sam's mind was tracking back over the day. The girl, who he hadn't believed at first, had proven herself. Here she was, still waiting, tiredly.

Joy spoke just loud enough to be heard over the din in the office. "I'm glad you're still alive, sir." She was sincere with her words.

Sam pressed his lips together for a moment, regarding her. Finally he put his hand out for her to shake. "I owe you an apology, Miss Garcia." As she took his hand, he added, "You saved us. Twice… Thanks."

The girl blushed.

* * *

G jumped awake, consciousness over-riding the haze of the stuff the doctors had him on… But just barely. Adrenaline flowed through him trying to help him gain his senses past the drugs' hold. Several moments of disorientation worked through him. He quickly recognized that he was in a parked, running car, but he didn't know who's for almost another few seconds. Where exactly the car was parked took another few moments, but he finally identified that he was sitting outside of Headquarters in Sam's car.

And he was alone.

His body felt nice and relaxed; something he tried to override since he was a touch weary of where he was, and the fact that there seemed to be no one around. He was unsuccessful thanks to whatever it was in his system.

Callen sighed and brought his left hand up to rub his eyes, still tired. Realizing his wrist was stiff, he brought it down so he could see why. A thick, white bandage was showing from underneath his shirt, wrapped all the way to his palm and over his thumb. He didn't remember what he had done, which frustrated him, but he remembered the hospital, and that he took comfort from. At least he remembered _something._ He hated not remembering things.

G looked around the car, feeling dazed and hating that, too, and remembered that he had been talking to Sam.

_Where is Sam?_ He thought to himself, slightly irritated at the situation, but still wishing that his partner was in the car with him.

Looking back at Headquarters, he realized that Sam must be inside.

_Why are we here? _

After a few moments of not remembering, G thought to himself, _This is why I hate drugs. _

Looking down at his seatbelt, he hoped he had enough control over himself to get it free and get out of the car. His limbs felt like putty. Focusing as best he could, G managed to get his seatbelt to release. Allowing it to retract, G stared at the door of Headquarters. For some reason, it looked like it was a million miles away. With how he felt, it might as well have been. He was becoming more exhausted by the minute. And that wasn't good.

Becoming as stubbornly determined as he could, G decided he was going in after Sam.

Reaching over to the ignition, he turned off the car. The silence echoed in his ears for a few moments, causing a barely-there ringing to sound in his ears.

_That wasn't there before… Was it? _G wrinkled his forehead trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. It seemed to be coming from his own ears and not from any object inside the car, or the car itself, so he decided to overlook the sound. It wasn't that loud anyway.

He bent over and hid the keys to the Challenger RT under the right back corner of the car mat, right where Sam liked them. G moved slowly, and when he stiffly came up, he realized everything was spinning. A surprised, quiet noise escaped his lips. He held onto the car as the world slowed down. _Whoaaaa…_ Was all he could think to himself.

The world quit moving after several moments passed, and G pushed himself back into a sitting position. He was breathing hard. As he caught his breath, he wondered how he was going to make it inside to find Sam. He was so drained of any kind of energy.

After a few more minutes, he found his earlier determination. He could do this.

G opened his car door and worked to get himself out and to his feet. Once again, the world spun a bit as he stood. He gritted his teeth and held onto the car door until the dizziness passed.

It seemed like forever, but he was finally able to stand on his own, albeit a tad wobbly, and close the car door.

G walked slowly towards the door of Headquarters. He couldn't help bringing his hand up to rub over his face again. His skin was slightly tingly, and had a slightly not-there feeling.

Opening the door, and walking in, a hand on the wall for a few steps, G was surprised to see such activity inside. The lights were all on, and people were walking from their jobs to other stations, all working on who knew what. G paused in the entryway, blinking hard as his eyes adjusted to the light, confusion like a blanket around him. What was going on? Wasn't it the middle of the night? What in the world was Hetty working on?

G felt himself nearly lose his balance as he stood, thinking. He decided to keep moving in hopes that the forward motion would keep his body and balance on the same page. He needed to find Sam and find out what was going on. He was feeling out-of-the-loop, and he didn't like it.

Entering the main area, G looked around for any sign of his tall partner.

A female voice called to him: "G!" It was Kensi's voice.

Looking towards the Bull Pen, G realized that Kensi was waving at him, and Sam and Nate were standing next to her. Sam looked surprised to see him. G slowly made his way over to them, taking a deep breath. He tried to hide how gone he felt, struggling to keep himself from wavering while he walked.

He looked at Sam, hoping that how he looked wasn't sneaking through, but knowing that if it was, Sam's eyes would show it.

Sam had his eyebrows raised, not looking too concerned. "I thought you were asleep." He said easily.

G felt himself wobble as he walked and hid it by looking around and then back at Sam. He pulled out his cocky voice with what little strength he had left, "I was. You didn't wake me up." He heard the weakness in his voice. He hoped Kensi and Nate hadn't caught it.

Sam crossed his arms. Now his eyes held a touch of concern in them, but he wasn't going to bring attention to it. He was going to cover for him. "Hmp. Did you leave the car running?"

He was just about to answer with something demeaning, but then he saw her. G stopped moving forward, about a step from the rest of the group. His heart just about froze. It was the girl. He knew her. Wait, no he didn't. Did he?

Déjà vu tracked through him as he took in her dark brown eyes and hair, and that smile… He had known her from before.

Hadn't he?

His breathing caught. He couldn't recall meeting her. But he _knew_ her!

_How?_

Nate's voice began, "This is Joy Garcia, she…" He trailed off.

G didn't care. Her name didn't matter. He just couldn't figure out how he knew this girl. He didn't think it was the drugs' fault, either. _Is it the past? _For some reason, she was comforting to lay eyes on.

_But why?_

The teen girl just smiled at him.

* * *

Joy couldn't help the relief that was bubbling up inside her. This was G… Callen… Whatever his name was… She couldn't believe she was looking at him… _Alive!_

She was thrilled.

_He's alive!_ She thought gleefully to herself.

She had noticed how stiff and out-of-it he looked, but he was alive. _That's all that matters._

Joy finally released the worry she had been feeling all day. In its place, a great peace and happiness filled her.

His eyes were staring at her. He looked surprised by her. Or stunned. She couldn't decipher the look. But behind his beautiful, glassy eyes was something that she _did_ recognize. It was something she recognized from her father's eyes: a deep, inconsolable sorrow. This man, G, Callen, whatever he was called, had experienced loss as great, if not greater than her mother's death. That kind of sorrow she could spot a mile away.

_**Hug him.**_ The voice returned, filling her mind. The voice was full of gentle encouraging, wanting her to follow orders to the letter.

She resisted the voice as she stared at him. Her logic sprang up, arguing that she hardly knew this man, and if she did hug him, he'd be upset.

_**Hug him**__. _The voice insisted, not to be ignored. _**Hug him hard. Now!**_

The resistance she had put up in front of her like a wall she tore down quickly. She realized in a heartbeat that she really had no choice. He knew what He was doing, and she had no idea what was going on. She would obey, even if it seemed crazy.

Joy didn't wait, she moved forward through the other adults quickly, coming up to G suddenly, almost in the blink of an eye. She pushed up on her toes to be taller for her hug and moved to wrap her arms around his chest and arms. He hadn't moved. He didn't pull back from her as she had moved forward so she went forward with all of her heart; whatever comfort or condolence she could give him filling her thoughts.

At that moment she heard the gunshot echo through the large building as she was pushed hard against his chest from behind.


	14. Out of Reach Aftermath

CHAPTER 14 - Out-of-Reach Aftermath

2:00 A.M.

Nate didn't remember when things started moving in slow motion, having done everything in his power to remember only the facts, and forget the motions his heart took him through. But he remembered one thing vividly. He remembered Joy moving toward Callen to give him a hug, almost in slow motion. He remembered thinking that this was a logical move for her, since she had been concerned that he was going to die for the majority of the day. Her posture, mannerisms, and dialog had proven that. He had been a bit surprised throughout the day that she hadn't burst into tears. A few times with Kensi, after they had heard that Sam was taking Callen to the hospital, Joy had bit her lip, looking sad; a pretty sure sign that she was wondering if Callen was going to make it. So, the quick hug was nothing if not warranted. But what happened the split second after was a complete shock and something that would take time to get over, even just remembering the facts…

…Nate heard a gunshot echo through Headquarters, making him flinch, and pushing Joy into Callen. And then, he didn't believe what he was seeing: blood, skin, and bone spewed from the wound on Joy's left shoulder.

The drugged agent fell back onto the cold, cement floor, with Joy landing on top of him, causing him to hit the ground hard.

Nate felt his breath catch as he saw the blood welling up through Joy's clothes and the shaken, pained, and dazed look on the Senior Agent's face.

Then, another gunshot sounded.

Someone pushed him back towards the Bull Pen as a safety measure. He stumbled a few steps in the direction he'd been pushed, but found he couldn't look away from the two on the floor. _No!_

Sam's voice yelled Callen's name. Kensi was yelling for people to get down. There were females in the building who were letting out frightened screams.

Sam's voice finally shook Nate out of his stunned state: _"Hetty!"_

Nate looked up to where Sam was looking. He felt his eyes widen.

Hetty was standing up on the second floor, just outside of Archives, clutching her right arm that was bleeding through her fingers. Her gun was dangling in the hand of her injured arm. She looked deathly serious.

Hetty looked down at them, took a breath and called out, "The mole is dead, Sam! Tend to those two!" With that, Hetty fell down to her knees. "_ERIC_… Nine-one-one!... Send them to the predetermined meeting place!… And _someone_ get me a towel…"

"Hetty!" Kensi cried and took off upstairs. Nate saw several NCIS employees follow her.

Eric was standing, looking horrified at the bleeding Queen of the Office, from the doorway of Eagle's Nest, but when he saw Kensi running up the stairs, he called out, "Yes, Ma'am!" and began dialing on his hand-held computer.

Pandemonium was breaking out on both levels of Headquarters. Nate could see several employees upstairs gathering around what looked to be a woman's body, opposite of Hetty in the Archives. _The shooter?_

"Doc! Nate!" Sam yelled at him. "I need your help!"

Nate's breath caught again as he turned to see Sam on the ground next to Callen and Joy. He moved toward Sam like a zombie, not sure what he could do to help outside of basic first aid, but knowing he would do anything Sam asked. His heart was beating madly.

Nate was kneeling down on the other side of the duo when Callen started trying to move.

Sam was quick to put a hand on Callen's shoulder and bark loudly, "No, G! Stay still!" Callen answered by lying back on the floor, still looking dazed, confused, and in pain. Looking up at Nate for a moment, Sam commanded. "We move her to my side on three."

Nate panicked, seeing her injured shoulder was on his side. He didn't know where to pick her up!

The large agent seemed to realize what he was thinking, because he added, "I've got her head, you get her legs."

After Nate quickly moved into position, Sam counted down and they lifted her just enough to place her on the other side of Agent Callen.

The moment they released her, Sam was putting his palm against the girl's wound and pressing hard, trying to get the bleeding to stop.

Nate was shocked that the girl didn't cry out. But he quickly realized that the girl was unconscious. And, she had lost a lot of blood.

"Doc, check G." Sam said, voice full of concern.

Nate looked and realized that Callen's chest had blood all over it, right in the middle. Callen was looking down at himself weakly, before laying back and looking at Sam dizzily. Nate and Sam neither one missed the slight negative shake of his head.

"Check him anyway, Nate." Sam said, lowly, still focused on the girl. "He's drugged enough to keep him from feeling just about anything." Co-workers were coming over to assist them. It was getting crowded fast.

Nate did as he was told and lifted Callen's shirt up to his neck carefully. He could easily see that there was no wound, just blood. A lot of blood. Joy's blood. And there were bruises. And there would probably be more later thanks to the Agent hitting the ground so hard.

"He's clear." Nate reported to Sam.

"Great." Sam said, distracted by the teen girl in front of him and the two co-workers who were assisting. "Get him into your car and take him to my place. He has a key on him. Get him cleaned up. Make him rest. I'll be there as soon as I can. If I'm not there by oh-four-hundred hours, make him take three Advil."

Nate listened and then nodded, repeating, "Oh-four-hundred hours, three Advil. Got it." He could do that.

"No…" A weak Callen spoke from the ground, struggling to sit up.

Nate moved to help him sit up.

"Don't you 'no' me, G Callen!" Sam snapped at him. "There is nothing you can do to help. And we had a deal, remember? No arguing! Go with Nate and do exactly what he says! Get me?" Sam's voice rose above the din until he was almost yelling.

Nate held his breath as Callen leaned against him where they sat, the Agent looking at the girl's lifeless body. He worried Callen wasn't going to listen.

Fortunately, the younger man gave in to his older partner for once. Callen nodded, looking way past exhausted to the Psychologist.

Sam nailed Nate with a look. "Get moving!"

Nate helped Callen to his feet. Nate looked down at Joy, one last time. He was suddenly horrified at the thought that the girl might not make it. He was saying it before he realized: "Sam, please let me know—"

Sam looked up with little patience. He said, almost snapping, "I will!"

Nate parted his lips, not sure if he should apologize or just go.

Sam seemed to realize the tone he had used, and noticed the underlying look of horror in Nate's eyes. He said a bit softer, "We'll take care of her. Just… Take care of G."

The Psychologist nodded his head and started toward where his vehicle was parked; weaving through the employees, he helped Callen stay upright as they walked. The shorter man was disoriented, looking around a bit until it made him dizzy, then stumbling, about to fall over, forcing Nate to catch him and hold him up until he regained his footing. Nate realized that he needed to hurry and get Callen to a quiet and peaceful environment. This was taxing the Agent's current state.

"Come on, Callen." Nate urged him over the noise.

* * *

The SUV door shut beside him.

G looked around, feeling like he was in a cloud—what he was feeling was several types of surreal, causing his heart to pound. He barely registered the fact that he was in Nate's vehicle. He felt like he was trying to crawl out of his skin, anxiety and anger and confusion boiling inside him, but he couldn't do anything to alleviate it.

Nate was climbing into the SUV beside him and starting the engine to take him to Sam's house. G heard this, hardly caring.

He wanted to hit something. Shoot someone. Scream. Cry. Laugh. Do _something_. But he was trapped inside himself by the drugs. It literally hurt.

_That girl…_

He was frantic to make sense of what had just happened.

The girl had moved to give him a hug, right? And then they were falling. And then she wasn't moving.

_Is she dead?_

Unbidden, visions of another girl, a Russian girl, flashed through his mind. Her lifeless body. Eyes open. Dead… Shot because of him… Dead because of him…

G wanted to scream at the flashback he had tried so hard, so many times, to forget, but the drugs kept him silent as the vehicle moved along as if in a dream. The drugs didn't stop the tears, though. He felt the tears when they reached his chin as he remembered Alina's blue eyes… The last thing he had seen before he was shot in the successful drive-by eight months ago.

Looking down and seeing his tears falling, Callen felt a small bit of release from the drugs. He was able to clench his fists weakly, which he did, as the sobs caught inside him and tore at his insides.

He finally moved, suddenly raising and slamming his right fist against the door. It felt so good to move, the pain over-riding the drugs for a moment, that he leaned forward, curling up a little and trying to catch his breath through the tears. He had seen Nate jump out of the corner of his eye, but didn't care.

_I don't want anyone dying for me. Not again..._

"Callen?" Nate's worried voice filled the air around him. "Callen, talk to me… What's happening? Do I need to stop?... Callen!"

Another wave of memories washed over him, this time pushing him into confusion. They were of the girl back at Headquarters. The girl that had hugged him. He saw her dressed in white, trying to help him find his way through a grassy, green plain. And then he saw her smiling face as they watched a sunset from playground swings. He _did_ know her! He had seen her before.

…_In my dreams…_

The realization freaked him out. His breathing sped up.

"Callen?" Nate's voice again.

He saw it and felt it all over again: the brown-haired girl smiled at him, looking glad to see him. Then she moved forward, slow motion, and wrapped her arms around him. Her warmth surrounded him for a fraction of a second. Then the gunshot. It pushed them down.

It _couldn't_ have been meant for her. It couldn't have. It was meant for _him_.

A hand was touching his back.

"Callen, I'm right here." It was Nate's voice. Soft and low. He sounded focused. There wasn't any sound coming from the car anymore. They were stopped.

The flashbacks slowed and, before they could take off again, G painfully pushed himself upright. He felt the wetness on his face as he moved dizzily and the uneasy nausea in his stomach. He brought his right hand up to wipe away his tears, but stopped when he realized his right hand was throbbing. He stared at it in the darkness, trying to figure out if he'd hurt it slamming it against the door, or if it was an earlier injury.

Nate didn't miss a thing. "Does it hurt?" He asked softly.

G didn't trust his voice anymore, so he simply nodded once, pressing his lips together.

"Let's get you inside, and I'll look at it." Nate said. He opened his car door and stepped out.

G looked out the window and was surprised to find they were at Sam's house already. The surprise helped to cut through the wake of the flashbacks. He was beginning to breathe easier when Nate opened his door and helped him undo his seatbelt.

* * *

Getting Callen inside didn't prove to be too difficult. Nate took his time helping the Senior Agent get out of the car, being sure that he didn't fall. And he kept his arm firmly around the shorter man's ribcage as they walked up to Sam's house. He took note of Callen's breathing, which had slowed, and the wetness still on his face from the tears he had silently sobbed in the car. Nate had realized in the car that this entire event was hitting too close to home for Callen, but he hadn't realized _how_ close until he saw the tears. Now, extreme worry was filling him. With Callen so wound up, how was he supposed to get him to rest?

On the porch of Sam's one-story house, Callen managed to dig his keys out of his front pocket with his weak left-hand fingers and hand them to Nate. From there, Nate got them inside Sam's house.

Sam's house was modern in most aspects, with dark wooden floors in the living room and kitchen, and a grey carpet in the hallway and two bedrooms. The living room décor consisting of a dark, oversized, charcoal-colored, fabric couch, matching armchairs, a black, wooden coffee table, two end tables of the same black wood, complete with two modern chrome lamps, one of which was on, both opposite of a fifty-five-inch flat-panel television that was mounted on the wall. There was a fuzzy maroon throw folded neatly on the back of the couch, and two pieces of maroon art that hung behind the couch on the wall.

Nate guided Callen slowly to the couch and helped him sit down in the middle. He then leaned over and turned on the other lamp. The lighting helped to dispel the darkness that seemed to be lingering around them.

Moving back to Callen, he checked over the silent Agent visually, trying to see what damage might have occurred between Headquarters and Sam's place. Head against the back couch cushions, Callen wearily stared at the blank television on the far wall, barely blinking, a sure sign of exhaustion and the drugs. Whatever turmoil he had fought in the car was leaving him alone for the time being. Nate took note of the bandage on his left arm. No doubt there were plenty of other wounds from the day's events. He wasn't too concerned about the old wounds currently. The thing that was most disturbing about the way Callen looked was the amount of Joy's blood that was not yet dry on his clothes.

Nate swallowed. He pushed away the memory of Joy moving forward to hug the Agent and the bullet hitting her shoulder. He needed to focus on helping Callen. He would deal with what happened, later. Nate slowly moved to sit on the coffee table and carefully picked up Callen's right arm. He needed to see if the Agent had hurt himself in the car.

Callen stirred to look at what Nate was doing.

Nate noticed and slipped into his Psychologist voice while looking over his hand, "I'm checking to see what damage you might have here… Looks like you bruised the side of your hand… Hmmm…" Nate pushed on the bones in Callen's hand a little. He was relieved when nothing moved around. "Well… Doesn't look like you've broken anything…" Nate looked at Callen's bloodshot eyes. "Does it still hurt?"

For a moment, Callen brought his eyes up to look at Nate's.

In that instant, Nate realized he had been wrong. It was obvious by the unshed tears in the icy blue eyes that the Agent was still being tormented by something very painful in his mind. _Flashbacks? _Nate couldn't help the intense worry that came over his features.

Callen saw his concern and pulled his hand back, blinking hard a few times, his breathing elevating. He looked away from Nate, and said quietly, "It's fine."

Nate watched him for a moment. Callen was attempting to get his barriers in place. His need for control was rearing its ugly head. Nate knew he needed to tread lightly; otherwise this entire night would be even more of a nightmare than it had already been.

Nate took in the blood on his clothes again and asked him, "Does Sam keep spare clothes here for you?"

Callen nodded. He didn't look at Nate, but moved his gaze toward the hallway located before the kitchen entrance that led to the house's two bedrooms. "In the spare bedroom… plastic bin… in the back of the closet…"

Nate nodded slowly and stood. He headed for the indicated location.

Turning on the light in the room, Nate glanced around. The spare bedroom was painted white with a SEALs flag hung above the queen-sized bed. The bed was made with a plain, dark blue comforter and regular pillows. There was a nightstand on both sides of the bed, with the one on the left holding a tall lamp and a clock. There was a black rocking chair in the corner by the door, which surprised the Psychologist. A dresser was up against the closet wall with several assorted trophies on top of it.

Nate walked to the single door leading to the closet and opened it to see the large closet. He stepped in, turning on the light, and went deeper, trying to find the bin Callen was talking about.

He finally found the bin, surrounded by boots and covered carefully with folded blankets. Getting it free and dragging the one foot wide, by four feet long bin out of the closet, Nate hefted it onto the bed. He opened it and was a little shocked to find two old stuffed animals living among the three stacks of neatly-piled clothes. He didn't have to work too hard to determine that the clothes were Callen's, but what was with the stuffed animals?

Setting the stuffed animals to the side, Nate went through the clothes quickly. In the first two stacks, he found a casual set of clothes and a work set of clothes, both with a pair of shoes underneath. The third stack of clothes contained underwear, a few t-shirts, and a pair of navy blue flannel pajama pants. Nate grabbed one of the t-shirts, a grey-blue color, a pair of underwear, and the pajama pants. He replaced the bin in the closet, carefully placing everything the way it was.

He closed the closet door. Then he moved to the lamp and turned it on low, before turning off the overhead light and leaving the room.

In the living room, Callen was exactly where Nate had left him: leaning back into the large cushions of the couch. His eyes looked over Nate and what he carried as he entered the room.

"No." He said quietly, yet firmly.

Nate stopped in the middle of the living room. "'No' what?"

"I'm not wearing those." Callen said weakly, deathly serious.

Nate glanced down at the pajamas then back at Callen, frowned at him, feeling puzzled. "They were the only pajamas in there."

Callen shook his head a little. "I don't do pajamas, Nate."

Nate considered possible history of what Callen was saying. With his past of being an orphan, a ward of the State, there might be mental scarring linked with this situation… however bizarre it might seem. He understood that. But then he thought through the recourses of denying Callen's desires, he decided that the facts didn't change the differences between pajamas and jeans and proceeded to come up with a cold boldness that he didn't think he was capable of… especially not to use on the Special-Agent-In-Charge. He was in charge, not Callen. And at this point, Sam was trusting him to do what was best for his partner, whether or not his partner wanted to go along with it.

Nate furrowed his eyebrows at him. "These were the only clothes in that bin decent for sleeping in." He said lowly.

Callen repeated himself with a touch more vehemence, "I _don't do_ pajamas, _Nate._"

Nate nodded slowly, showing the Agent that he had heard him. Then he stopped and moved back to his spot, sitting on the coffee table in front of Callen. "I'm not going to argue with you. I understand perfectly. You don't do pajamas." Nate met Callen's eyes with his own and showed he was not backing down. "But because of your injuries, and because you're covered in blood, I've decided that you need to be cleaned up and in _these_ clothes for sleeping tonight."

Callen's eyes became annoyed. He opened his mouth to say something and Nate interrupted him.

"Do you want to try to clean yourself up and get changed, or shall I do it for you?"

Callen closed his mouth and blinked at him, surprised.

Nate nodded at the few moments of silence. He then stood and started for the hallway again, asking over his shoulder, "Where does Sam keep his washcloths and rubbing alcohol?"

The movement did the trick.

Callen said quietly, "Doc, wait… Help me up. I can do it…"

Nate returned to Callen's side, feeling as if he'd just won a war single-handedly. Too bad there was no one there to see it.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Nate was putting G's blood-stained clothes into the washing machine, hoping beyond hope that the blood stains would come out. He wasn't certain if these were some of Hetty's wardrobe loans or clothes that she had purchased for the Agent.

_Hetty._

Stepping back from the clothes washer that was in a closet behind the kitchen, Nate sighed. He fought the urge to shiver as the image of Hetty bleeding darted through his mind. He'd seen blood. He'd even seen dead, lifeless bodies. But blood on _the_ Hetty Lange? It had shaken him. He counseled himself with the thought that he wasn't overreacting or under-reacting; he was managing everything as well as he could. His mind would process what he had seen until he had more facts about what happened and he could come to some sort of truce with the events. Everyone did it in their own way. Those that couldn't needed to seek medical help. But he could, and he would. However, all he needed to focus on right now was Callen and getting him to rest.

Nate nodded to himself and headed back to the guest bathroom, where Callen was still cleaning up and changing into the new clothes behind the closed door. He waited in the hallway, relieved to hear that there was still movement coming from inside. He had given the Agent strict orders to sit while he changed clothes, so that falling would be less likely. He had threatened that if he heard a thump of any kind, he was coming in. Callen had stared at him, almost disbelieving, while the Psychologist stared back steadily, until Callen had looked away.

Nate knew Callen was tired. He also knew Callen was drugged… And dizzy… And trying valiantly to suppress memories, or flashbacks, or something of the like. All it meant was simply that extreme caution and care was needed to handle the Agent for tonight.

Nate realized that it had become silent in the bathroom. There had been no sounds for several long seconds. Nate reached out and knocked.

"Callen?"

There was no answer.

His heart beating faster, Nate repeated himself slightly louder, "Callen?"

There was finally the sound of a slight movement. Then a weary voice, "Doc?"

Nate swallowed and tried to still his racing heart. "May I come in?"

Callen's voice returned even softer, "Yeah."

The Psychologist opened the door slowly. He took in that Callen was sitting in the pajamas on the closed toilet seat, his left hand to his head, his right arm holding onto the nearby cabinet top. Now that the Agent was in a short-sleeved shirt, there were visible bandages: a thick, white bandage on his left wrist and lower hand, and bandages on the middle of his right and left arms, the bandage on his right arm much larger. Callen was swaying slightly. Nate was certain that he also saw a faint tremble go through his body.

Nate came closer to the man. "Dizzy?"

Callen lowered his hand from his head, his glazed eyes staring at the floor and wall. He took a small breath, another tremble showing itself. "You could say that…"

Nate allowed himself a small smile at the stubbornness that Callen always had with him specifically designated for deflecting questions concerning his well-being.

He came within a foot of Callen. "Do you think you can walk with my help? The guest room bed is already ready." He told him. He had seen that the bed's covers had been pulled back before putting the clothes in the washer.

Callen nodded once and began to stand. It was obvious that he wasn't going to be able to stay standing without help, so Nate lifted his left arm carefully and put it over his shoulders, putting his own arm around Callen's torso.

The two of them made it into the spare bedroom slowly. As Nate helped Callen sit on the bed, he realized that Callen wasn't trembling now—he was downright shaking. Nate tried to help him get under the covers without seeming like he was helping too much.

Callen wearily sank into the bed and pillows, closing his eyes, exhaling loudly. He became still, the shaking coming to a stop.

Nate watched him for a moment, a little concerned that he had quit moving so suddenly. He asked him quietly, "Do you need anything?"

He was surprised when the Agent opened his eyes and asked simply, just as quietly, "Water?"

Nate nodded and left the room to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen.

Returning to the bedroom, he found that Callen was fighting sleep hard and losing. The Psychologist almost opted for putting the glass on the nightstand, turning out the light, and leaving, but decided to help Callen to sit up and get a drink.

Callen wasn't resistant to the help. As soon as Nate began to get him upright, the shaking returned. He shakily drank the water until the glass was nearly empty. Nate helped him lay back down, his eyes closing before he had fully settled.

Nate said softly, "I'll be in the living room. Just call if you need something."

Callen gave a slight nod before becoming still.

Nate turned out the lamp, making the room nearly pitch-black, the only light tracking into the bedroom from the living room. He watched Callen's outline for a few moments, checking for more shaking, but there wasn't any. It had just been the Agent's muscles protesting the activity.

The tall Psychologist turned and left the room, leaving the door wide open, just in case he needed to return quickly to check on him.

Returning to the living room, Nate sank into the large armchair. It felt like forever since he had sat.

So he sat.

And he thought.

* * *

_They had him cornered._

_His heart beat wildly. He frantically tried to find a way out of the sights of their guns, but it was no good. They were all in the shadows of buildings, and he was backed up against a concrete dead-end. _

_They were waiting to shoot him. They knew they had him trapped. They were in no rush to kill him…_

_He searched for some sort of cover decent to keep him alive before the shooting started. His body was surging with adrenaline, screaming and begging him not to get shot again. It was something he might not live through again. _

_He breathed hard, feeling like he was suffocating, and searched despairingly. All there was were tall concrete walls stretching in both directions into the distance. None of which were enough to shield him from the bullets that were about to fly at any second…_

_The guns started firing._

_Callen flinched and turned away, covering his head, tensing and waiting to feel the hot metal ripping through his skin to take his life… _

_But it never came…_

_The bullets stopped flying. _

_Not a single one had hit him. _

_The bad guys were still watching him from the shadows; he could feel their eyes as he looked up._

_In front of him was a bullet-riddled body._

_He saw her blonde hair and felt instantly sick. _

_It was _her_._

_He ran to her, panicked, not caring if it was a safe action or not. _

_Kneeling next to her, he pulled her bloody body off of the street. Her crystal blue eyes open, staring at nothing. _

_Dead. She was dead._

_He started shaking, an avalanche of sorrow, pain, and anger coursing through him._

Not you. Not here. Not now. Not you!_ He cried in his mind, tears filling his eyes._

_He whispered over her, "No… Alina…"_

_The bad guys didn't shoot him, letting him have a few moments with the one who had attempted to save him. He bitterly knew they would finish him in a few moments. His logic told him to leave her body and run, but the rest of him wouldn't be moved._

_He should've protected her. It shouldn't have been her trying to protect him. She was his MLATshaya seeSTRA. His little sister. The only girl he had ever told to call him big brother…_

_Now he was covered in her blood that was still warm._

_He loathed himself for not being able to stop her death; for not being able to save her._

_Suddenly, his grip on her was empty, yet still bloody._

_He looked down and around in shock through his tears._

Where did her body go?

_Without her body in front of him, the fear of being shot came back. Now that his moment was over, the bad guys were sure to finish him._

_He didn't care though._

_He just allowed himself to feel the fear. It ran from his head down his spine, chilling him slightly._

_It didn't matter anymore. He was ready to die. He had always been ready to die._

_He lifted his teary eyes to stare into the shadows, wanting them to go ahead and take his life. He just hoped that this time it would be for real and it would hurt as bad as the first time._

_Just then, a blur came from out of the corner of his vision._

_Panic came over Callen again. He couldn't breathe._

_The brown-haired girl in her white and raspberry-pink top, jeans, and raspberry-pink canvas shoes raced to stand in front of him. She stopped a mere ten feet in front of him._

_He knew what she was doing. The kid was trying to save him._

_But didn't the girl know that it was pointless? He was going to die here no matter what she did. It was pointless for her to die, too…_

_He wanted to get up. He wanted to race towards her. Push her out of the way. But he was held in place on his knees, unable to move. _

_The anxiety began to drown him._

_He screamed at her, tears in his eyes: "DON'T! Don't do it!" _

I'm not worth dying for… _He pleaded mentally. _I'm not!

_She didn't look back. She stood there bravely._

_There was only one more moment of time left... _

"_NO! RUN!" He screamed at her desperately._

_The gunshots began again. _

_Her body jerked with bullets slamming into her, for him. _

_He screamed out in frustration and soul-deep pain, shutting his eyes._

_

* * *

_

Nate jumped where he sat dozing at the sound of a strangled cry and a loud _thump._

The Psychologist was moving towards Callen's room, spurred on by adrenaline, by the time his sleep-deprived mind caught up with him.

He flipped on the hall light as he passed it and came into the spare room, trying to stay calm. His heart was beating hard, fear for Callen pushing him to slow down as he came into the bedroom.

Nate's heart nearly stopped. The bed was empty. The blankets were rumpled to one side. _What?_

He glanced around the room, thinking perhaps the Agent had gotten up hurriedly and that was the sound he had heard. He was alarmed when he didn't see any sign of Callen.

Just then he heard a small sound. It sounded like someone taking in a deep, catching breath, almost like someone trying to quit crying…

Nate became still and quiet, listening, but the sound did not repeat itself.

Frowning, Nate realized he still needed to check the area between the bed and the far wall. He moved slowly, calling in a calm tone, "Callen?"

Coming around, he found the Agent, on his right side facing the far wall, lying on the floor, looking like he was attempting to push himself up weakly with his left hand.

"Callen." Nate breathed out his relief, hurrying to the Agent's side.

Callen didn't answer. His breathing was labored.

Nate helped him to sit up slowly. "Are you hurt?" He asked.

As Callen leaned his back against the bedside, wincing, he shook his head 'no'.

Nate didn't exactly believe him. Even in the semi-dark, it was obvious that there was wetness under Callen's ice blue eyes. Nate nodded slowly, trying to keep everything calm for the drugged Agent's well-being. He glanced over him, wondering if the fall out of bed had further injured any of his wounds.

The Psychologist inhaled slowly, and then stopped his mental fussing to inquire lowly. "Care to tell me how you ended up on the floor?"

Callen was staring at the wall. He let out a soft snort. Then he fell silent. Nate didn't think he was going to answer the question, but then he said quietly, "I really don't do beds, either, but I was trying to humor you."

Nate raised his eyebrow. "Thank you?"

Callen nodded his head once, still not looking at him.

A few quiet moments passed.

"Ready to get back in bed?" Nate finally asked.

A dark look came over Callen's tired features for a split-second, the Psychologist catching it, before he shook his head twice.

"Living room." Callen said.

"'Living room'?" Nate repeated. "Really? The bed is—"

"Not as comfortable as the couch, Nate." Callen interrupted him, training his stare on the taller man.

Nate understood, then. Callen was refusing to get in the bed again because of the nightmare. It was probably why he didn't "do" beds. Nate agreed to himself that if he had frequent nightmares that caused him to fall out of bed each time, he wouldn't "do" beds, either. He'd want to be as close to the ground as possible. Either on a couch or on the floor itself. It made logical sense, in a weird, child-like way.

Nate took half a breath. "Got it." He said simply.

Callen seemed relieved that they weren't going to debate it. Yet another sign that he was beyond tired.

Nate helped the Senior-Agent-In-Charge up and to the couch in the Living room, which Callen sank into gratefully, sitting and resting his head on the back of the couch, eyes closed.

Nate stood back from the couch for a few moments, then asked quietly, "Are you going to lie down?"

"Hadn't planned on it." Callen answered him without opening his eyes.

The Psychologist gave an inward sigh. It looked like he was going to have to come up with a trick if he was going to get the Agent to actually, sincerely, rest. Callen was staying seated so he wouldn't have to actually go into a deep sleep. Nate crossed his arms. _No cat naps tonight, Callen._ He thought determinedly.

Just then, a shiver bolted through Callen's body, making him inhale sharply. It was enough to make him lift his back away from the couch slightly. Callen settled himself quietly without opening his eyes, his breathing returning to normal.

Nate frowned. That was the drugs mixed with his lack of sleep. Callen needed to pass out. His body was protesting all that he was putting it through. If he didn't fall asleep soon, things would get worse.

Nate glanced at his watch. Three-forty-two a.m. He would have to give Callen the Advil that Sam had ordered in less than twenty minutes. He glanced at Callen's form on the couch. Callen was breathing easily, but not deeply. Nate guessed that he was awake and just being still. He knew that Callen wasn't in any shape to talk things through at this point. He would still try if given the opportunity, but… perhaps a backup plan should be enacted…

He pursed his lips and nodded to himself as the ideas started coming together. He hated to be tricky with the drugged Agent, but without Sam… He had to do what he had to do.

Nate quietly left the living room in search of the house's thermostat. He found it in the hall near the master bedroom. He turned the air-conditioner down to sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. He knew the cold would work against the natural tendencies of the body to use warmth for fuel, and instead cause them to want to sleep to conserve energy. Nate then went looking for the Advil that Sam had told him to give Callen. After a brief search in the perfectly-clean Master bathroom that yielded no Advil, Nate went to the kitchen, glancing at the Agent as he passed through the living room. To his dismay, Callen was in the same position, however, now he was staring at the front windows. His blue eyes were half-open and glazed. Open eyes meant still awake. Nate stifled a sigh and finished his trek to the kitchen. He began searching through the cabinets for any medications at all. He found a container of Ritz crackers during his search. Nate paused, holding the box. He carefully thought back over the day. He seriously doubted that either Callen or Sam had been able to eat anything all day. He put the box out on the counter. This was now a part of the plan: get Callen to eat a few crackers.

It took another few minutes, but Nate finally tracked down the drawer that held the pain-relievers. He took out the bottle of Advil Liquid Gels and set them on the counter next to the crackers. He proceeded to track down Callen's glass from the spare bedroom, return to the kitchen, and fill it with water. Leaving the items in the kitchen, he began to burn the next few minutes by moving the laundry over to the dryer. He was pleased that the blood had washed out of Callen's clothes without any problem.

Nate then visited Sam's immaculately-clean bedroom. He searched around until he found a spare comforter in the walk-in closet. Satisfied, he returned to the spare bedroom to straighten the blankets and pillows. Before he left the room, he stopped to take one of the pillows and carried it into the living room along with the blanket.

Callen was still sitting in the same position with half-closed eyes. With all of Nate's movement, he had begun to watch him every time he went through the room. Nate offered him a half-smile as he put the pillow on one end of the couch and the blanket on the coffee table. Callen's eyes saw what he did, but he didn't say anything; his silence daring Nate to ask him to lie down. The Psychologist didn't mind the treatment, because his plan was already in motion. The temperature in the living room was getting more frigid by the minute. Callen's stubbornness wouldn't be a problem for much longer.

Nate returned to the kitchen realizing it was three-fifty-nine. It was time.

He took a paper towel off the roll and put five Ritz crackers on it. He then carefully took three of the Advil out of the container and closed it. Nate gathered the crackers on the paper towel in the hand that carried the Advil and then picked up the water glass with the other hand. He made his way back into the lamp-lit living room.

Callen watched him sit down on the couch next to him and set the water glass on the coffee table.

Nate held the paper towel and crackers out to him and waited until Callen moved to take them.

Callen uncovered the crackers and stared at them for a moment, his stomach suddenly growling. He tiredly looked at Nate with a frown. He quietly murmured, "Not hungry."

Nate nodded slowly, saying quietly, "I guessed you wouldn't be, but you need to eat them so you can take these." Nate opened his hand so that Callen could see the three aqua-colored translucent pills that he held.

Looking down at the crackers again, Callen let out a small sigh. He started to eat the crackers slowly.

The Psychologist watched him, hoping that Callen wasn't nauseous enough to lose the small amount of food later; knowing that the Agent probably needed more nourishment than the crackers contained, but that this would have to suffice. And it was better than nothing.

A few minutes later, Callen finished eating the crackers. Nate took the paper towel from him and handed him the three Advil and the glass of water.

As Callen swallowed the pills and drank the water, Nate stood, enacting his plan. When he saw Callen finish with the water, he stooped down and grabbed both of Callen's ankles and, in one, smooth motion, moved his legs up onto the couch. Releasing him, and trying not to smile at the stunned, confused look on the Agent's face, Nate took the glass from his hand, setting it on the coffee table. It was only another moment before Nate had the comforter unfolded and draped over Callen, who was still sitting awkwardly on the couch, seemingly trying to determine how he was going to resist Nate now.

Nate kept moving to adjust the pillow behind Callen's head and then move towards the kitchen, taking up the glass as he passed it, throwing over his shoulder, "Lie down, Callen." Adding as he disappeared into the kitchen, "Or I'll help you."

Nate refilled the glass and set it on the counter. No doubt they would need it again at some point. He then took the crackers and replaced them in the cabinet. Closing the cabinet door, the Psychologist returned to the living room.

He was happy to see that Callen had settled down on the pillow, laying down as requested. As he entered, he was fairly certain that Callen's one-second glance at him had actually been a weak glare, but since it was followed by the Agent closing his eyes and being still, Nate didn't say anything. Instead, he moved to the armchair and sat down, weariness washing over him.

The Psychologist tried to relax as he watched Callen fall asleep. His mind was full of the action that had gone down at the office just hours before. He began to sift through it all; trying to make sense of how it looked like an employee had been after Callen the whole time, how Hetty had stopped her, and how Joy had stopped Callen from being shot through the heart.

It was about ten minutes later when Callen jerked awake with a gasp, startling Nate from his thoughts. Callen's easy breathing had now become an elaborated mess, and he was trying his hardest to wake up, blinking and pushing himself up.

Nate was up quickly and crossed over to his side in moments, speaking quietly, as he worked to halt Callen from getting up, pushing him back down, causing Callen to look at him, blue eyes not okay. "No, no, no… It's okay… You're fine, you're good, Callen. Calm down… Don't get up…"

Callen paused, catching his breath, letting Nate hold him down for the moment.

Nate quickly realized that Callen had just had another nightmare. There was an undercurrent of fear in his eyes. The Psychologist took his hands off of the Agent, sympathy filling his eyes.

Callen brought his left hand up to rub his face, exhaling again. Callen left his hand over his eyes, arm propped against the back of the couch.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Nate asked him lowly, silently hoping that Callen would just blurt out what he was seeing every time he closed his eyes, but knowing it was extremely unlikely, no matter how drugged Callen was.

Callen shook his head once. "I'm fine." He murmured quietly.

Nate waited for a moment before saying equally quiet, "Good to see that your ability to lie is still intact after all that's happened today..."

Callen surprised him by rolling stiffly away from Nate toward the back of the couch, letting out a small, "Go away, Nate."

The Psychologist raised his eyebrows in surprise. He decided to let the Agent be. As long as Callen was attempting to get sleep, Nate wouldn't interfere.

Standing, Nate took the time to straighten Callen's blanket before returning to his armchair. This time, he watched Callen's form carefully.

This time, it took nearly ten minutes for Callen's breathing to become slow and rhythmic. Nate was glad it didn't take longer; he was finally realizing just how sleep sick the Agent really was.

It was a scant five minutes before the Psychologist caught faint tremors going through Callen's body. Nate was standing up to get a closer look at him when Callen flinched hard and woke up, this time not gasping, but holding his breath, instead.

Nate stood, watching, not wanting to scare Callen by coming up to him while he gathered his surroundings.

It only took a few moments for the Agent to start breathing normally again. Callen didn't look around, obviously remembering that Nate was nearby. He simply settled himself again, turning onto his back and closing his eyes.

Nate frowned. _This isn't a good pattern, _he thought as he watched. _It isn't resting, either. It's torture…_

* * *

_The shots rang out again._

G jumped awake for the third time, his heart beating wildly. Again. He was instantly frustrated. It was as if the drugs couldn't silence his thoughts. Each time he closed his eyes, it was either the day's events or the concrete deathtrap. And each time it was the deathtrap, it was Alina and that brown-haired girl. He didn't know how many more times his heart could take it. It was making him nauseous and want to run from sleep. He stared at the ceiling from where he lay on Sam's couch, trying to bring his heartbeat to normal, with blurry eyes. He had promised himself earlier that he wouldn't let himself tear up again over the dreams, but it looked like he was breaking that simple pact.

Suddenly, Nate was beside him, hand on his arm, slightly startling him.

"What are you thinking about?" Nate's voice asked quietly. "Whatever it is, it's keeping you tense. You need to let it go and rest."

He knew what Nate meant. The haze from the drugs the doctor had given him kept trying to overwhelm his senses and take him into deep rest, but it was as if he was fighting. His mind was whirling through the sight and vision of the girl getting shot, of Hetty bleeding, of drive-by shootings, of SUV's exploding, of a hospital that he never wanted to visit again… and that stupid concrete area, where he was the target.

"Callen, roll over." Nate's voice said. His hands were indicating that G turn toward the back of the couch.

G resisted by letting his glassy blue eyes find Nate's. Nate's bossiness was getting annoying. Why had Sam left him in charge, again? He couldn't remember the reason, but if he could've, he knew it wouldn't have been good enough.

Nate insisted again, "Come on, I can help if you'll let me. Roll onto your side."

Later, G would tell himself that the only reason he did what Nate asked was because he was heavily drugged.

G rolled over onto his side, facing the back of the couch. He tensed when he felt Nate begin to massage right beneath his neck on his back. It took several long minutes of G overriding his own barriers and rules before it actually started to feel good. Well, in a painful way. Nate was rubbing the same area hard, only letting his hands travel a few inches in any direction.

In less than five minutes, G jumped again, realizing he had passed out and again woke himself. This time over an echo in his mind of Sam yelling his name, panicked. It took a few seconds for him to realize he hadn't really heard Sam.

Nate had stopped for a moment with Callen's jerk and accelerated breathing, but resumed when he decided that Callen was alright.

Nate's soothing voice reminded him from behind, "You carry things all day, Callen. It is okay to lay them down for tonight." Nate rubbed harder as if making a point that G was tense.

To the drugged sensation flowing through G's veins, it felt painfully relaxing.

Nate's voice urged quietly, "Let it go."

Callen finally released. Too tired to remember and carry anything another moment. The entire day was forgotten. The sights, sounds, and feelings... Dropped silently.

Suddenly, it was as if the drugs were working for the first time. G was able to actually _breathe_. He felt how good the air felt, entering and exiting his lungs. He sank further into the couch, his muscles releasing their tension.

Nate must've felt it, because he lightened how hard he was pressing on his back. G responded by breathing even deeper and relaxing further.

He fell into the darkness of rest then, not caring anymore if he was safe or if he wasn't. The only time he came up from the darkness was to reposition himself, rolling onto his stomach. His back tingled as Nate had stopped to let him turn, but then the Psychologist was back at it, to G's momentary surprise. He didn't know or care how much time had passed. Soon, he was asleep again.

* * *

It was nearing six-thirty in the morning when Sam finally walked in his door, not bothering to be silent in his exhausted state. He closed the door slowly, his eyes dancing over Nate asleep on the armchair and G asleep and covered on the couch.

Nate roused from his sleep, sitting up in the armchair. He realized that Sam was standing in the house. He rubbed his eyes, yawning. He had ended up rubbing G's back for an hour and a half. When he had finally stopped, G hadn't stirred, being so asleep that it would take a car crashing into the living room to wake him. Nate had collapsed tiredly into the armchair trying to get _himself_ to let go again. The blood had rattled him a bit more than he had initially thought it had.

Sam looked surprised that G was still asleep. He walked toward Nate who was now standing up. "Doc," He said quietly. "Take the spare room. Get some rest… That girl is probably going to need a visit from you tomorrow."

Nate took in Sam's weariness and did not envy what Sam had been doing since he had last seen him. He asked, keeping his voice down, "What about you?"

Sam rubbed his massive hand over his face. "I'm staying here. Watching him."

Nate frowned. "Sam…"

"He needs his meds in an hour and a half. After that, I promise to move to my bed." Sam said evenly, yet quietly.

Nate nodded, stifling another yawn. "Is Hetty okay?" He asked.

Sam nodded. "Dr. Rodgers said it was a two-inch slice. Apparently that assassin threw a knife at her. They were still evaluating possible muscle damage when I left. Kensi is with her."

"And the girl?"

Sam grunted. "She was rushed into surgery. Her shoulder bone was pretty messed up… She should recover, though, no problem."

Nate paused, and then asked a question he had thought of earlier while he had been trying to get Callen to sleep. "Sam, if we had an assassin working with us, does that mean we've been compromised as a unit?"

Sam sighed, looking worn out at the thought. "Probably, Nate. Director Vance was briefed by Eric for an hour tonight… He'll be here tomorrow to look into the entire thing and decide what course of action to take."

Nate felt a pang of distress. "You mean, close us down?"

"I dunno." Sam replied. "Maybe. We couldn't find anything on that assassin. That may mean that whoever hired her knows about us… If that's the case, they might close us down. New identities. New headquarters. Whole nine yards. Then again, they might not. Eric wanted to stay up there for the rest of the night to see if he could find anything on the assassin's electronic footprint. I let him. Might've been a mistake…"

Nate tilted his head, concern in his low voice, "Is he alone? Couldn't it be dangerous to be in that building?"

"I made him lock down Eagle's Nest and activate the alarm system." Sam said. Then he shrugged. "He's safer there than we are here."

Nate smiled slightly. "Okay… " Another yawn overcame him. He covered it with his hand and started walking to the spare bedroom.

"Hey."

Nate looked back at Sam. "Yeah."

"He okay?" Sam asked, pointing at G's sleeping figure.

Nate considered what to tell Sam. Weariness wanted him to give a sketchy answer to get him out of a lengthy answer, but his loyalty to Sam helped him decide: "No."

Sam nodded solemnly. "You don't have to tell me anymore. I know why."

Nate was surprised. "Really?"

Sam kept his voice low. "Ever had a girl you cared for shot trying to avenge your life because she thought you were dead? It's not something you just get over."

It hit Nate like a ton of bricks. He said her name in a hushed, reverent tone. "Alina Rostoff."

"Bingo." Sam glanced at G, who was still definitely asleep. "I didn't think about it until I was on my way here… but… yeah."

Nate exhaled, a half-smile on his face. "Explains why it was so hard to get him to rest… and the small breakdown in the car…"

Sam turned to look at him suddenly. "The what?" He asked sharply.

Nate took a glance at G, carefully wording his thoughts, "Ah… I think it was just flashbacks... He hasn't had another one in hours. He's too tired. At this point, his body is slipping into survival mode. He probably won't have anymore for awhile."

Sam frowned. "'Survival mode' isn't good rest. I've got to get him to sleep while the rest of those drugs vacate his system over the next two days... He's not gonna be too pleased if I have to haul him back to see the Doctor."

"You know that I'll help you however I can, Sam." Nate said, spreading his hands out at his sides.

"I know. Thanks, Doc."


	15. Of Stories and Truth

CHAPTER 15 – Of Stories and Truth

8:22 A.M.

The vibration of the iPhone on Sam's nightstand stopped him from continuing his descent into the comforting darkness of sleep. The former Navy SEAL painfully pushed himself up, back aching, on his bed to look at the phone resentfully. He wanted to be angry, but he didn't have the strength. After seeing to Joy and Hetty for hours and then to his partner's morning meds just twenty minutes ago, he was pretty exhausted. He had been up for twenty-seven hours straight at this point. He could make it another four hours before he would start feeling flu-like symptoms, and then another five before he'd have no choice but to crash. He was grateful that he was this close to sleep. Pushing his limits had never been something the ex-SEAL was fond of. The phone vibrated again. The timing of the phone call was almost comical. His positive mindset weakly kicked in one last time and assured him he'd be laughing about this next week.

Sam reached over to the nightstand to pick up the iPhone, turning it to look at the screen. It read Eric Beale. It was the Tech Operator's Headquarters number.

Sam answered it, trying to keep his voice quiet, "Yeah." He hoped that his answering the phone wouldn't wake either Nate or G.

The voice on the other side was Eric's, but was definitely hyped on some sort of stimulant with how cheerful and full of energy he sounded: "Sam! There you are! I tried your phone, but the call wouldn't go through at all, and I tried the GPS on your phone, but that didn't work either! I'm glad you picked up Callen's phone because I was really, _really_ worried I would wake him up, or that may-maybe he wouldn't wake up, because I really needed to tell you—"

"Whoa, Eric!" Sam whispered harshly into the phone. "Slow down—"

"Okay!" Eric said quickly and with enthusiasm.

Sam frowned. He hoped there would be a happy ending to this phone call. Eric's odds of getting yelled at were growing by the second. "My phone was blown up, remember? The exploding SUV?"

"Oh yeah!" Eric exclaimed in the same tone.

Sam took a breath for patience and added quietly, "So, for the next few days, you can get me on G's phone—"

"Okay!"

"—What the heck are you on, man?" Sam finally asked, whispering exasperatedly.

"Oh! It's this awe-awesome gum that Abby gave me the last time she was here! She told me it wasn't as good as Caf-Pow but that it would work in a pinch the next time I had to pull an all-nighter, but I was afraid to use it be-because it has like a tonnnnn of caffeine in it, so I just put it in my backpack and forgot it," Eric inhaled and then speeded on, "But when I realized I couldn't get to the coffee downstairs, because I am in lock-down, I remembered I had it, so I pulled it out and tried a few pieces—okay, maybe like ten—It's realllllllly great stuff! Remind me to send her a thank-you note 'cause I haven't been able to think this clearly after an all-nighter in a long long long long ol' time!"

Sam put his free hand in the air trying to ward off Eric's speeding mouth, and hissed, "Eric!"

"That's right! Sorry! What I found out!" Eric paused for a breath. "Nora, NCIS archives employee, slash-assassin-who-was-after-Callen, slash-bad-guy-who-dared-to-shoot-a-gun-inside-Headquarters-and-throw-a-knife-at-Hetty, slash etcetera, etcetera, actually had a trail to follow after all! It was all through her phone!"

Sam felt himself become more awake. He stood up and quietly moved to close the door to his bedroom. "What did you find?" He asked lowly, beginning to pace. To finally have answers was something his logic and heart both had been crying out for. His listened closely to Eric's speeding happy voice.

"So! She apparently thought that by using a few mirror phone towers and servers that I wouldn't be able to track her phone usage, but she didn't count on the fact that I'm me and that I am able to find things that most hackers can't—_anyway_, over the past four months, she's been uploading loads of media, files, etcetera, to a private documentation storage cache online. It was a pain in the butt to hack, but once I did it was like hitting the _mother lode _of her life! Or, at least the last four months of her life… Anyway! You're not going to believe who our lovely assassin had files on!"

"All of us?"

"Yes! But also on Manny Cortez! The toe-cutter!" Eric crowed gleefully.

"Huh?" Sam blinked, processing. He stopped in his pacing. "Mad Manny Cortez?"

"Yep! I have all kinds of files filled with information on the workings of his operations and underlings and shipping routes and police names in several countries that are bribable and schematics for his buildings of operations and weapons suppliers and even his _hit list!_" Eric ended with his voice going high.

"So she was an assassin for Mad Manny?"

"Nope! She _wasn't!_ And how'd I know that? She kept an electronic journal for herself on this site, too, which, just so you know, was going to fully erase itself if she didn't turn off the program at nine this morning. You're welcome for saving the data. Like, this journal is _super_ valuable! It's where she lays out the bare bones of what she was doing. Seriously, she didn't think anyone could get past her firewalls and codes—"

"_Eric, focus!"_ Sam snapped, rubbing his forehead, the barely-there headache had just blossomed into a full-blown one. He needed sleep almost as bad as he needed to hear what Eric had discovered.

"Sorry!" Eric said, still too cheery and chipper for someone who had been up all night. "Okay! So, she is-slash-was a specialist agent from a undercover, underground group that she doesn't even name, she just puts a symbol whenever she's referencing them, some Greek or Latin symbol that looks like a 'p'. She had taken the job on the side with Mad Manny. He had already paid her four million dollars up front, with promises to pay another four million afterwards."

"A specialist agent from an undercover, underground, unnamed group who took a side job?" Sam wrinkled his forehead, trying hard to connect the dots. His weary brain was struggling. "Wait… Eight million dollars to do what? Get information on us?"

Eric's voice became a touch quieter. "To kill Callen. Or, as Mad Manny referenced him, 'That damn NCIS agent who took down my Los Angeles business.' She agreed to do the research, get in NCIS, and then kill him, as long as he supplied the muscle if she required it. She promised in the agreement that it would never be linked back to him as long as she got paid. She kinda went out of her way to threaten Manny a few times… Kinda humorous really…"

Sam became cold. How could she have gotten so close to her goal? She had been right under their noses, ready to pounce for a long time. The entire 'day of death' came back to him, starting with pulling G down during the drive-by, to watching his partner fall through the floor in Kait's house. He suddenly felt nauseous. He couldn't help how serious he sounded when he said lowly, "Not humorous, Eric."

Eric fell silent.

Sam took a breath, trying to focus himself. The only way he could get ahold of his suddenly raging emotions was to remember that his partner was sound asleep on his couch in his living room—_alive—_just a hallway away. G had been agreeably groggy when Sam had awoken him to take the pain killers. The dark-skinned Agent wasn't even certain that G had fully woken to take the pills. He couldn't remember the last time his partner had been that relaxed. Wait. Yes, he could. It was the last time Dr. Rodgers had prescribed that batch of drugs for Callen while he was in the hospital after being shot five times in the drive-by. _The drive-by that his Russian "little sister" tried to save him from..._ Sam thought, remembering the devastation that Callen's eyes had held deep inside while they worked the case when she had turned up dead. Sam realized with a start that if this girl, Joy, hadn't come along saying God had wanted her to warn him about G, things would've ended quite differently. Several times. Sam's mind was too weary to follow that train of thought. _I'm not complaining. G's alive. That's all that matters._

Sam shook himself and brought his throbbing head back to the conversation. He began firing off his own list of unanswered questions: "What was her real name? Who is she? What kind of specialist is she? Did anyone else have access to her files? Who told her about Callen?"

"Uhhhh…" Eric stalled, the sound of him hurriedly clicking on his keyboard trying to get answers for Sam came over the phone. "Gimme a sec."

"Oh, and when is Director Vance getting here?"

"ETA on the Director is four hours." Eric answered quickly. "And, as far as her real name and her full range of specialties, that's going to take some substantial digging. She didn't make it _that_ easy… And as for who has access to data cache… Ah… I haven't found anything that might indicate _when_ someone else could access her files, but I know _for certain_ that no one has accessed them. I can even prove it in a court of law." Eric took a breath, and then asked, "Out of morbid curiosity, do you think someone else is going to attempt to access the files? 'Cause, I can totally take down all the information and then back out of the system leaving no trace that I was ever there—"

"Do it!" Sam ordered.

"Well, okay then!" Eric said merrily, typing madly on his end. "And yeah, that assassin-slash-actor-slash-personification-of-a-"hit-woman" was tipped off through the eye-witness testimony of a Luis Perez. Remember him? He was the father of that girl who was kidnapped to force her uncle to cooperate with the drug cartels. The uncle who had knowledge of satellite workings on the U.S.-Mexico Border who was later shot, leaving the girl kidnapped and you and Callen scrambling to rescue her—"

"I remember, Eric, I was there." Sam said harshly, just about out of early-morning patience. "And if you say 'slash' one more time, I'm gonna resurrect that flip-flop smacking threat."

"Yessir. No more of the diagonal line referencing! Got it!"

Sam shook his head in annoyance. "You are _never_ touching that gum again." Sam growled into the iPhone, hoping that Eric realized that he was making a threat on his well-being.

The typing on the other side of the phone stopped for a moment. Eric made his voice sound small and pathetic, like a cartoon character, saying quietly, "But I like the gum."

"Do you like your life?"

"Uh, yeeeeaaah…"

"Then no more gum. You get me?"

"Got it."

Sam sighed, weariness washing over him again. He sat on the side of his bed, thinking over what he was hearing. An assassin sent by a drug cartel had infiltrated the NCIS Special Operations Headquarters in the worst way: as an employee. _We invited her in. How the hell did this happen? _ She had planned for months to kill G. That was enough opportunities for her to kill his partner to make him feel truly ill. She had moved among them as one of their own. Waiting to strike. Waiting to take down her target. Did she draw the line at watching them and gathering information to attain her goal, or did she completely compromise them? Had she planted bugs? Cameras? False information in their computers? Had she stolen information that would be worth a fortune on the Black Market? Did she attempt to destroy them like a tiger bite, causing instant death and pain, or like cobra bite, leaving poison to take their lives later on? Sam feared that perhaps this assassin was the mixture of both. She had planned on G's death. Perhaps she had planned on laughing at the fall of their unit in the future.

"Finished, Sam!" Eric's energetic voice brought the Agent back into the present.

In his tiredness, Sam repeated Eric's proclamation, "'Finished?'"

"Yep! I downloaded everything, swept up the link portals and servers, and backed out of the line using ghost mirrors and tangents. If anyone tries to figure out if anyone has been there in the last while, they won't be able to find me, no matter how good they are!"

Sam could almost hear the Tech Operator's smirk. "Great, Eric."

"Thank you, Sam! Okay, so now that I have all of her information in a secure place for me to go through more tediously, I should be able to learn more and get a report together for you and the Director before I pass out." Eric said sounding slightly more focused.

"Eric," Sam called quietly. "We need to know what she was up to besides hunting Callen. I mean, was she like a virus or Trojan? Or was she harmless? …Do you understand what I'm saying?"

There was a pause as the computer genius thought, then he answered in a slightly toned down manner, "You want to know if she's sabotaged anything or bugged anything or taken any information, either physically or electronically."

"Bingo."

"Uhhh…" Eric sounded like he was looking around. "For what you're asking, I'm going to need some help to be able to scour this place. Like, serious man power. And, it's going to take a few days…"

Sam nodded. "Here's the plan. You make a general list of what must be checked and what to look for, then issue an 'All-Employee Return to Headquarters' for three this afternoon. Director Vance will help coordinate your list and make sure it gets done. As soon as you do that and your little report, _get some sleep_. You hearin' me?"

"Got it. I will get this stuff done by the time the Director arrives noonish… Heh, I probably will pass out shortly after that!"

Sam allowed himself a partial grin. "Good job, Eric."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Eric said, the fake energy back in place like magic.

Sam stretched the small of his back and stifled a yawn. When he relaxed, he said quietly, "If you run into anything, call me."

"Got it! Callen's phone. Understood. Eric over and out."

Sam snorted softly and shook his head quietly, disconnecting the phone. As he looked up from the iPhone into the darkness of his room, the weariness fell over him with a deep, internal darkness. He had no idea how this would play out. It could be very, very ugly, or it might be one of those circumstances they would chuckle about someday. Either way, the only solace he could find within him was that the team was still alive. His partner was alive.

Sam quietly placed the iPhone on the nightstand, plugging it in to charge on his old phone's charger. He then moved across the room to open his door quietly.

After staring into the near-black for a few moments, he walked out into the hall. He paused outside of the guest room, the door cracked. He could hear Nate's faint breathing as he slept. Sam moved into the living room, something inside of him wanting to be sure that G was still resting well.

G was on his back, covers coming to his chest, his right arm lying straight by his side, his left arm crossed over his stomach, his breathing slow. Even in the low light coming through the front windows, Sam could see that Callen's features were relaxed. _The drugs are working._ Sam thought, relieved. He had witnessed his partner resist drugs many times in the past. It had been hard to watch. He hoped this time G would heal uneventfully. With no surprises.

_Is that too much to ask?_ Sam thought as he turned and silently made his way back to his room to gather whatever rest he could.


	16. The End and Beginning

CHAPTER 16 – The End and Beginning

11:14 A.M., Three Days Later…

G Callen drove silently. He was alone, and his brand-new, Hetty-issued, tan, 2009 Impala sped along nicely though traffic. He was traveling upwards of all speed limits by at least five to ten miles per hour, but he didn't care. He needed as many distractions as he could get. Even then, it wasn't enough. His thoughts wouldn't leave him alone…

The morning had been a whirlwind of activity following a partial-night's sleep. Callen had required each and every second to feel that he was getting control of the situation that had engulfed his NCIS team.

G frowned and drove faster. He was annoyed to no end at his partner. No. Wait. He was mad. Really mad. Maybe if Sam hadn't kept him drugged for so long he could've turned up more clues on the group that had been behind the training of the fake archives assistant.

His sketchy memories returned, unbidden, from two nights ago...

_G felt trapped. He tried so hard to save Alina over and over again, but no matter what he did, she always ended up shot dead in his dreams. His subconscious knew that he was dreaming, but still refused to stop making the same scenario happen in his dreams. He did everything he could. Over and over. "There's ALWAYS a freaking way OUT!" He finally screamed into the darkness of his dreams, exhausted, angry, and distressed. His cry didn't change anything. Callen knew that he needed to wake up, but for whatever reason, he couldn't get himself to wake up. _

_Trapped._

_Suddenly, there was a voice. Far in the distance. It was deep. Hushed. G strained to hear it as it was providing an escape from the horrible feelings he was drowning in. The dream shifted again and there was Alina being killed again, this time by bad guys wielding machine guns. Callen had had it. He screamed at them to leave her alone. His heart taking the same hopeless stabbings that had been tormenting him._

"G!"

_Suddenly, Callen felt himself being lifted, the new sensation of cold air on his warm back cutting through the darkness, gravity becoming slightly off, as if he were falling._

_G tried to put his arms out to find both his balance and whatever he had been laying on, a whimper escaping his lips._

"Calm down, buddy. I'm right here."

_Callen opened his eyes with a gasp and grabbed onto the first thing his hand touched: Sam's shirt._

_Sam was bent over him, holding him, seemingly, in mid-air, breathing hard, as if he had been running. Concern was the only thing G could read on his partner's face in the low light. Sam took a few seconds, registering that Callen was awake, and then moved to lift the smaller man up and back onto the couch that he'd halfway fallen off of. _

_G breathed hard as the world spun around him and Sam. He tried to blink the sensation away, but it was stubborn._

_Sam, understanding, somehow, what Callen was feeling, didn't let go of him. He kept his hands latched onto his partner's upper arms._

_Callen let go of Sam's shirt, unsure about what was going on, but compelled to not show that kind of weakness in front of his partner if he could help it._

"_You with me?" Sam asked him lowly, not moving, just breathing, and watching Callen's every move._

"_Yeah." G breathed out. He looked around slowly as Sam released him and sat on the coffee table nearby. They were at Sam's house. G tried to remember why he was there, but he couldn't. He asked Sam, "What time is it?"_

_Sam stared at him for a moment before answering snippily, "Time for you to go back to sleep."_

_G felt one of his dark looks come over his expression as he realized that he had been dreaming. A nightmare. And he had been trapped. Something horrible had been happening._

_Sam slowly shook his head. "I know. The nightmares. You're still going back to sleep. You want more Advil?"_

_It hit Callen why he was so off-balance and weak. He could feel it: whatever he was on was the strong stuff. "I'm drugged." He didn't mean to say it out loud, or even worse, sound accusing, but that was how his voice sounded. _

_Sam looked away for an instant and seemed to gather his frustrations. Looking back, he said easily, "Yeah. We had a deal. But if you keep waking me up like this, it's not going to be drugs. I'll just knock you out with a lamp."_

_G couldn't help the glare that he shot at his partner, not in a playing mood, "Why am I drugged?"_

"_Because you fell through a ceiling." Sam shot back, not playing, either. "The Doc wanted you on them, so you're on 'em! Now, go back to sleep."_

_Callen worked furiously to recall what Sam was talking about as Sam stood. Finally, he remembered something… Searching a house that had a blood trail on the stairs. The memory stood alone, which irritated G. He knew there was more there, but he couldn't get it to flood back._

_Sam sighed, looking down at G. "Look, I'm going to get you more pills. We can discuss what all happened tomorrow morning, alright?"_

_G stared at Sam. He wasn't alright with that. _

_Sam stared back, knowing it fully._

_They stared at each other for a moment, before Sam lowered his voice and told him, "Director Vance and Hetty have it under control. Your orders are to rest. I promise, I'll fill you in tomorrow. On all of it."_

_Callen clenched his jaw and gave his partner a small nod. He still didn't like it, but it was obvious that being stubborn right now was not a good idea. Besides, if he thought hard enough for long enough, he would probably remember on his own. _

The memories faded, allowing G to concentrate on where his car was on the freeway. The memories of Alina and that brown-haired girl that he now knew was named Joy, had tormented him even after Sam had given him more drugs. He had woken up countless times, trying hard not to disturb his partner's sleep. It had been an irritating night. He couldn't remember more than a basic outline of what had happened before. He hadn't known that night why he had been targeted and shot at, or worse, _who_ was behind his near-deaths. That awful night, he hadn't even been able to work the emotions out of his system, since he was too drugged to walk around without help. He had just lain there, frustrated, fighting against sleep.

Callen swerved his new Impala between two cars and around a large truck. It was sad that he was so good at driving fast without thinking about it. He really wanted a distraction so he didn't have to keep going over what he knew. Yesterday morning he had cornered Hetty to get more answers, being unsatisfied with second-hand information from Sam…

"_Mr. Callen."_ _Hetty looked up from her desk, saying the words with slight surprise, her arm in its sling moving slightly with her. She glanced behind him and then met his eyes with a frown. "Where is Mr. Hanna?"_

"_Don't start with me, Hetty." G said, his irritation at being kept out of the loop lacing his voice._

"_I start nothing, Mr. Callen, I only finish." Hetty raised her eyebrows. "Am I to assume that you arrived here without Mr. Hanna? I certainly hope you didn't drive his Challenger without his permission."_

"_Assume whatever you want. I want answers." G snapped, blue eyes flashing, coming closer to her desk._

_Hetty looked at him innocently. "I have been passing along all the information we gather to Mr. Hanna."_

_G shifted his weight on to his other leg and stared steadily at her. His back was still sore from the fall, as much as he hated to admit it. "The latest, Hetty."_

_Hetty leaned back in her chair and pursed her lips. _

_Callen almost let his stare crack in frustration, but then Hetty sighed and looked down. When she looked back, he could tell she wasn't going to stonewall him any further._

"_We are in the same spot we were before, Mr. Callen." She said, a small weariness to her voice. "As you know, we were unable to identify the young lady who got past our defenses. And, we are unable to find out anything about who she was trained by. We know that Manny Cortez hired her to kill you, but beyond that…"_

"_Nothing." G finished for her, still not believing it._

"_I suppose you know now that we finished our second sweep of the building. We haven't found anything that would suggest that we are being monitored or under any kind of surveillance. Director Vance thinks that we are still secure. He thinks that this woman's greed kept her from straying from her job, not wanting to do anymore work than necessary... I think Director Vance is being generous."_

_Hearing facts from Hetty had a calming effect on Callen's internal emotions. He looked at the floor, taking a breath. He moved to sit down in one of Hetty's chairs. His back was beginning to throb. "You don't think we're out of the woods yet, huh?"_

_Hetty inhaled and then exhaled slowly. "I know about secret organizations that the United States government has barely heard of, Mr. Callen... I have never heard of this organization. Their methods may be simple, or incredibly advanced. There's nothing I dislike more than underestimating an opponent."_

_Callen nodded, silently agreeing with her._

_They shared a few moments of silence before he asked, "How's the arm?"_

_Hetty gave him a small grin. "Oh, it's fine. Minor surgery… compared to your little heroine, that is." _

Callen grimaced at the sound of Hetty's voice in his head. She had gone on to explain more fully how she had tried to shoot the woman up in archives before she could fire her weapon, but they both had fired at the same time. As the imposter had fallen, she had thrown a knife at Hetty, which Hetty had seen coming and tried to move out of the way. The woman hadn't realized that it was Hetty, so she didn't take into account that she was a smaller target. The knife had been thrown hard enough to slice Hetty's arm deeply as it went past. Hetty had shot again, this time putting a bullet in the woman's heart. She had died instantly.

G knew what had happened with the intruder's initial shot. Sam had made sure that he'd understood, telling him about it after he'd been taken off of the constant drugs. That girl, Joy, had taken the bullet accidently… Or, on purpose. He didn't know which. He didn't even know if he wanted to know. It was haunting him, either way.

_I'm crazy for doing this._ Callen thought to himself. _I hate hospitals. _He exhaled hard.

Up ahead of him, the light turned to yellow. Callen accelerated instead of slowing down. He didn't want to be stuck waiting at a light with his thoughts. There was nothing worse than wondering if you'd been made. If your team had been made. If your enemies were getting smarter than you and endangering the good people you care about.

He changed lanes around a couple of cars and sped up to get past them.

This morning, all morning, he had been trying to get back into control. He wanted to be certain that his team was safe. But all the work had already been done for him. It seemed everyone had tried to be certain that _he_ was safe. Especially Sam.

"_G."_

_Sam's voice caught Callen by surprise. He had just finished changing into a backup pair of clothes and was folding and straightening the couch where he had been sleeping for what felt like forever. He was almost to the point of never wanting to sleep again. That's why he had awoken at four in the morning, eaten, changed, and was trying to slip out the door before this exact scenario happened. He turned in the dim light and saw Sam standing in the hallway in his casuals that he slept in._

"_Where are you going?" Sam asked him, lowly. Callen could tell that Sam wasn't annoyed or angry, he just wanted to know what was going on._

_G inhaled and slowly released the breath. They hadn't discussed this; G had simply felt well enough to get out of the house. Sam probably wouldn't have any problem with it other than his annoying parental-type worry, still, Callen had hoped to have vacated the house by the time his partner awoke._

"_Out." G finally said._

_Even in the low light, G could see the displeasure on Sam's face. Sam looked away for a moment and then back to him, his lips pressed together. He sighed then, and said to the Senior Agent in Charge, "Nothing I say will make you hang around until a decent hour?"_

_Callen shook his head once. "No."_

"_Okay, then." Sam turned toward his bedroom. "Wait up. I'm going with you."_

_G resisted the urge to say anything other than, "Out alone, Sam."_

_Sam turned back with a speed that alerted G to the fact that he had struck a nerve. "Like hell." Sam took a step into the room. "I'm going with you, no argument."_

_G allowed his voice to become patronizing, "Didn't you say three days?" He referenced their earlier deal that he barely remembered making. Sam hadn't forgotten it, however._

_Sam gave him an annoyed look. "You're kidding me."_

_Callen gave him a half-smile, putting his hands out beside his waist. "Thanks for understanding."_

_The bigger man crossed his arms. "The office, Kait's house, or the hospital?"_

"_Ew. Not the hospital."_

"Where_, G?"_

_Agent Callen headed for the door, done with the conversation. "I'll end up at the office, big guy."_

"_G." Sam's voice was slightly elevated. Callen turned back to look at him quizzically. Sam tossed him an iPhone. Looking at it, G realized that it was his. Sam leaned against the hall doorway. "I'll bring out the new one that Eric gave me yesterday."_

_Callen conveyed his thanks with his gaze._

_Sam nodded. "G, listen… Just because we're pretty sure that we weren't made, doesn't mean that we weren't… Be careful." Sam let a small smirk touch his face. "I'm pretty sure God's done intervening." _

_G smirked back. _

Callen turned his car hard to avoid slamming into another at his unsafe speed. The Impala handled like a dream by keeping him in his lane tightly and zooming down a merging ramp. Sixty-nine miles-per-hour. That's how fast he was going. If he had hit that car, Hetty would not have been pleased. She had given him the keys to the car just one hour ago. G forced himself to slow a little. Totaling a car in less than two hours would break his record, and Hetty might respond by breaking _him_ with her one functioning arm. He didn't want to chance it.

The hospital sign stared at him from above the road he was on. He groaned inwardly, not making a sound. He didn't know why he was doing this. Actually, he did. Nate had been convincing and had somehow bypassed all of his barriers.

"_Callen." Nate walked up behind him in the Eagle's Nest. _

_G looked at him from the stack of papers that were strewn before him on the large back-lit table. He had come up to read Eric's report in peace. He had tried sitting down at his desk, but the flashbacks kept coming back, so he moved upstairs. Eric was working down in the tech room at the moment, so Callen had been alone. He'd already made it though Eric's report once. Now he was just soaking each page in. He was surprised that Nate had come to find him. "Yeah." G said as a greeting._

_Nate smiled easily and then asked, "Have you heard the latest on Joy? I thought you might want to know."_

_G straightened and remained silent. Half of his flashbacks dealt with her. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know if she had died or gotten better. He finally made himself nod once._

"_Her doctor is convinced that she will make a full recovery." Nate said, coming up and placing a hand on the table. "He thinks she is doing well for being shot like she was. Her father still hasn't been reached, but her grandmother flew in. Last night was the first time she wasn't completely drugged. I visited her and got a few minutes to speak with her when her grandmother stepped out. Joy, um… She…" Nate paused, "She wanted to know if you were okay."_

_Callen unconsciously clenched his jaw. The God-hearing girl had asked about him. He didn't know what to respond to that. She had saved his life. He was grateful, but he was also extremely worn out over her, trying to figure out how she had been in his dreams prior to meeting her. _

_Nate noted the look in Callen's eyes and then gently suggested, "Why don't you go see her today? Her grandmother has made it clear to the doctors and nurses that she will be gone until this afternoon, and they need to take extra-special care of Joy." Nate's eyes became amused. "Since the story is that it was a drive-by shooting, the grandmother keeps visiting with the LAPD detectives, trying to catch who's responsible. It will be the perfect opportunity for you to talk to her..."_

_G couldn't respond. His thoughts and feelings were churning over seeing her._

_Nate added lowly, "To thank her. I know you would want her to know you're okay."_

_G nodded once, right before another vision of Alina's blue, lifeless eyes swept through his mind. He hadn't ever gotten to tell her that he was alive. That he was okay. He turned away from Nate and gripped the table, trying desperately to not show any of the emotions he was feeling. He had so many regrets about Alina. She had been trying to avenge him. What other "family" had fought for him like that? Not anyone that he was aware of. No other foster family had been as wonderful to him as the Rostoff family. No other girl in his past had earned the name of "sister."_

_Nate's voice retreated as he walked toward the door. "I'll set up cover for you to visit her around eleven-thirty."_

_G nodded again, Nate catching it before he slipped out of Eagle's Nest._

Callen pulled the car to a stop. He had parked in the hospital parking lot without thinking. From his car, he looked up at the tall, brown building with seven floors and evenly-spaced windows. He hated this place and he dreaded going in there.

_All I have to do is say thanks. _G told himself, sizing the task to its simplest base, just like he did whenever he went undercover. He hadn't had to practice the ritual with anyone who knew his true identity in a long while. It made him feel a touch anxious.

He gathered himself and got out of the Impala trying to ignore his complaining back. He walked through the parking lot and into the hospital doing his best to blend in.

He stopped by the gift shop inside the main floor of the hospital and casually bought a small stuffed animal. G didn't even notice what he had selected until he was on the elevator headed to the fifth floor: it was a little pink kitten with a large bow around its neck. For a six-inch plush, it was extremely girly. The two other elevator occupants kept glancing at him and the toy he held. G ignored them and just kept turning it in his hands, looking at it, and feeling the soft fur. He didn't have to buy the girl anything, but it just seemed appropriate.

The Senior Agent didn't realize that he was nervous until the elevator hit the fifth floor and he stepped out into the Children's Ward. He glanced at the colorful jungle-themed walls before moving forward looking for the room number Nate had given him.

As he approached the room, he realized that he didn't know how to tell a fifteen-year-old girl thank you without it being awkward. He wasn't even certain he knew _how_ to communicate with a fifteen-year-old. He could fake that he was confident. Maybe she wouldn't notice. Or, better yet, maybe she was asleep, and he could leave the pink kitten and a note. He hoped that was the case when he reached her door.

Callen softly rapped his knuckles against the smooth, wide door. He was surprised when it was opened by a nurse almost immediately. He took a step back and smiled sheepishly.

The nurse returned his smile and opened the door wider for him, stepping out to show that she was leaving. "She's been waiting for you." The nurse said kindly.

Callen was surprised that anyone knew he was coming. He didn't allow any of it to show at all. He just replied easily, "Sorry I'm late."

The nurse gave him a smile and let him take the door, walking away.

The hospital room that he entered had a large bed with a brunette girl lying on her side, covered in a fluffy pink blanket, facing away from him and towards the single large window in the room. There was no one else in the room that was about sixteen by eighteen feet. There were a few empty chairs present, as well as many flowers and balloons and cards all around... And there was a lot of pink in everything that had been brought in from outside the hospital. Maybe he'd picked her gift more perfectly than he'd thought…

The girl was being still. She had a sling on the arm that she wasn't laying on, and a couple of I.V. bags going. She had an oxygen line over her ear and running under her nose. She was also hooked up to a machine that measured her vitals. G remembered what all that felt like too well. He even knew what being shot felt like during the recovery process. The fact that muscle has been punctured, bone has been shattered, and massive bleeding has occurred is always lost on people who haven't experienced it.

Callen forced himself to move forward and around to the other side of the bed. He finally came to where he could see her face. He had imagined what it would be like to see her face again, especially since every time she was in his dreams it caused him turmoil, but he didn't expect the girl to be crying when he finally did.

Her eyes were closed and tears were silently trailing down her face.

G didn't know if he had stumbled onto a private moment or what, but he asked quietly, "Hurts?"

Her eyes opened to look at him. She gave him a dull smile and said in a small voice, "No. I can't feel much." She moved carefully to bring her un-restricted hand to clumsily wipe her tears. The I.V. was in the back of her hand. She then took a breath, lowered her hand to rest beside her, and smiled more believably. "Nate told me you were coming."

Callen lowered himself into the chair next to her. _That explains how the nurse knew…_ He thought. He regarded her and allowed himself a half-smile when he found that looking into her brown eyes wasn't stirring up all the emotions that he thought it would. "Did he?" He said finally.

Joy looked at his hands, distracting him. He then realized that he was still holding the pink kitten in one hand. He held it out to her. Her eyes brightened substantially. "For me?" She asked as she reached slightly for it.

G placed the kitten gently in her hand. The fifteen-year-old looked at it, admiring it, a pleased look on her eyes.

G shrugged a little. He surprised himself by the words he found himself saying. "It's not a large enough thank you… But… Thank you."

Joy blushed and pulled the small plush to her chest. "I don't think you should be thanking _me_… but, if it makes you happy… You're welcome."

Callen tilted his head, grasping her meaning. She thought God had told her exactly what to do. She was implying that he should be thanking God. He thought for a moment on how the events had gone down. How an assassin inside NCIS had drugged him, and then attempted to kill him four times. Each time, the assassin had been thwarted… And the last time, it had been this little girl who had been hurt. He looked down at his shoes for a moment while the shooting inside headquarters replayed in his mind. He raised his head. "Why did you move when you did?" He asked. "Did you get… tipped off?"

Joy's smile slowly went away as she thought back. "Kinda, I guess… He just said to hug you."

G fell silent. He hadn't really been able to feel that she was telling the truth before. But, suddenly, he felt that she was. She had been getting insight from somewhere, and it had proven to be accurate over and over again. He hadn't thought about God in a long time. There were too many prayers that had been unanswered for him to think that God existed anymore… But, just maybe, he was mistaken. _But why would God care if I lived or died?_

Joy moved slightly and pointed her kitty-filled hand toward the nightstand. "That's for you." She said simply.

Callen turned and saw that the only thing on the table was a worn, pink leather Bible. He frowned and looked around more, thinking she must have meant something else.

"No…" Joy said, "The Bible. It's my old one. I'm giving it to you."

G felt a bit of awkwardness mixed with the heart of the gift. He carefully picked up the Bible and brought it to his lap. Nate had let Callen read his report on Joy earlier. He had mentioned in it how very devoted to God Joy seemed to be. No doubt this Bible was worn because she loved it. "I can't take this." G protested.

Joy tilted her head on her pillow and blinked tiredly. "I know the color insults your manhood, but you're supposed to have it. Color it with a Sharpie or cover it in duct tape."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Look inside." She interrupted him.

G paused.

She smiled. "Look through the pages. I want you to see."

The Agent slowly did as she'd requested and open the pages that no longer had any metallic edging. As he flipped through, he found that multiple colors of highlighters, crayons, pens, and colored pencils had been used on the pages. And there were short notes scribbled in the margins. He even caught sight of a few stickers.

"Dad gave me that Bible right after Mom died." Joy said softly. "I kept it with me all the time… that's why it's so… loved?" She said the last word as a question, bringing a smile to G's lips. "Anyway. Dad told me before he left that he wants to buy me a new one. You're _supposed_ to get that one, and I'm _supposed_ to let it go. Please take it."

Callen closed the book. "What will you use in the meantime?" He asked, in one, last-ditch effort to convince her not to do this.

"Dad got me an iPod touch." Joy said simply. "There's an app for that."

G answered her with an amused silence.

"What do I call you?" Joy asked suddenly.

Callen blinked, not at all expecting her to change the subject that fast. He thought for a moment about giving her an alias. Sam had told him that she knew his first name without anyone having told her. He decided to avoid the question with another question. "What do you want to call me?"

Joy looked baffled for a moment, before saying, "I asked you first."

"I asked you second." G replied, deflecting again.

"Well, I'd like to know your name… Otherwise, I'll have to call you 'the serious guy I took a bullet for.'"

Callen closed his mouth. He took a moment and decided: "My name is G Callen."

She nodded slowly. "Okay, G Callen. Nice to meet you. Again. Finally." Her drained tone suggested she was playing with him. "You can call me Joy. 'kay?"

He nodded once. "Okay."

They fell into a comfortable silence.

G finally broke it when his mental questions became unbearable. "Why me? Why did God tell you to save me?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, asking softly, "Are you… upset… that He finds you worth saving?"

Callen felt some of his barriers come up. His chest tightened. He didn't know how to answer. The dreams he had been having of Alina and her danced through his memory. Alina had died because of him… It was true. Deep inside, he _didn't _think he was worth someone dying for. He fought dangerous bad guys each day so that everyone else could have somewhat-normal, happy lives. Like this girl. She should be going to the mall and the movies and dating a hot, young guy—not stopping enemy fire aimed at him! Callen took a steadying breath. He finally said, "You could have been killed."

Joy smiled softly. "You're worth just as much as I am. Everyone is. To Him, we are priceless." She lowered her voice, "He gave it all for you, G Callen, not just three days ago, but before you were born. You should consider returning the favor... He's not so bad to be friends with…" She finished jokingly.

G raised an eyebrow, answering before he could stop himself, "Even when He gets you shot?"

She nodded. "Even when He allows you to be shot."

"You were only shot once. What about five times? Still want to be friends with God?"

The girl nodded slightly. "Yep." She thought for a bit. A quizzical look came over her features as she thought about his questions. "Wait… You've been shot five times?"

G smiled and stayed silent.

Joy smiled back tiredly. "It's okay if you don't get it now, G Callen. I think you will one day… Preferably before you die."

G didn't know what to say. He looked down at the pink Bible that she had sacrificed to him. "Thanks." He said to her.

"No problem."

"And… Thanks for saving my life."

Joy blinked wearily. "Don't worry about it… Who knows? Maybe next time it will be you saving mine."

* * *

Leaving the hospital, G was thinking. His visit with Joy had been… enlightening. She seemed to be very connected with God. She would probably be a good contact to keep around.

He glanced down at his watch. It was almost twelve-forty. He had stayed much longer than he had planned. It was amazing that they'd been able to talk the entire time without any interruptions. He would have to tell Nate 'thanks' later.

He had left whenever she began to fall asleep during their conversation. Not before she had asked him if he'd like to play her tennis once her shoulder healed. The question had sent a jolt of déjà vu through his system, and he'd told her that he'd have to see. She had asked him several more questions in her dozing state, mainly wondering if the bad guys had been stopped and if she could have his phone number. He had simply answered that yes, the bad guy, singular, had been stopped, and then given her his alias' phone number. He expected that Hetty was going to give them all new alias' in the next few days anyway, so that phone number would be non-existent soon. She had been happy and then nearly fallen asleep.

He had left quietly, taking the pink Bible with him, giving a nonchalant wave to the nurse who looked up from the Nurse's Station as he exited her room.

As he walked across the parking lot, he found himself thinking about another girl in his life: the first one that had attempted to save his life… She, his Russian little sister, hadn't been able to stop him from being shot, but she had given him something more important. Alina had shown him that he was valuable enough for someone to die for him. That's what parents would have been like, he was sure... If he _had_ had "real" parents, they would have shown him that they thought he was valuable. Just as Joy had done.

G smiled. As he climbed into his tan Impala, he laid the pink Bible down on the passenger seat. Looking over at it, he realized that he had the perfect place to keep it: in a secret, carefully hidden tea box; along with a solitary picture of a teenage boy and his Russian little sister.


	17. Just Rally

BONUS – Rally

11:45 A.M., The Next Day

Joy listened to the soft sounds outside of her hospital room. She lay in the freezing-cold room on her side, covered with white sheets and her fuzzy pink blanket. She stared out the window, the TV having been turned off forever ago with no desirable programming on. She liked the quiet. It was soothing. She had lost all track of time while staying in the hospital. The days and nights were roller-coasters of awake, asleep, nightmares, nurses, visits, and drugs. She didn't know what day it was anymore. Joy sighed softly. The nurses had told her Grandmother that it would be normal for the teenager to forget things due to the level of painkillers they had her on. Joy didn't think that "forgetting things" should include what day it was, but maybe she was wrong. Her hand tightened momentarily on the cell phone she held. She glanced at its screen, pressing the button to bring it back to life. It lit up and showed her the time and what day it was. She felt relieved. Again. _Dumb drugs._ She thought for the thirtieth time.

Callen's visit the day before came back to her thoughts. Joy's eyes traveled down to the pink, fluffy, stuffed kitty that he had brought her. She had kept it on her bed ever since he had visited. In a strange way, the toy had helped her to realize that the pain had a purpose. It wasn't just a random thing that had happened, her getting shot. Her action had saved a life. _His_ life. G Callen's life. And no one knew except for the secret agent people. She needed to keep it that way, too. When her Grandmother had asked where the stuffed cat had come from, she had simply told her a friend had visited. When pressured for the friend's name, Joy used the deflective questions that Kensi had taught her to distract her Grandmother from the answer. It had worked. The secret agents would remain secret if she had anything to do with it.

Joy looked down at her cell phone. She suddenly remembered that G Callen had given her his cell phone number. A bolt of excitement jolted through her. She brought her phone closer to her eyes and quickly began looking through her contacts, hoping that she had actually saved his number. It would be just like her drugged self to have gotten his number and then forgotten to enter it in her phone. She smiled a little when she came to the entry of "G" without a last name. She knew it was his number.

Moving in a drug-induced whim, she decided to text him. After all, it was boring here, at present. If he responded, she could have a conversation. If he didn't, at least she'd said what she had forgotten to yesterday…

Joy typed on her phone's keypad.

_Thank you again 4 the pink kitty. It never leaves my side. Hope ur doing good._

She hit 'send' before she could care too much.

Just then, her Grandmother returned, opening the hospital room door. Joy put her phone down and gave her a weak smile.

Her Grandmother brought in several bags of items that she thought would interest Joy and make her stay in the hospital easier. To Joy, it looked like she'd raided all of the nearby stores in a frenzy. Going through all of the items would take the rest of Joy's waking hours.

Joy wondered if G Callen had gotten her text only a few times.

* * *

The next day, Joy entertained herself with television and watching the movies her Grandmother had picked up for her the day before.

Somewhere in the middle of "Princess Diaries: II," Joy exhaled, bored. She like the movie well enough, but the pain in her shoulder was increasing and her Grandmother had been gone for awhile—to where, she couldn't recall—and was supposed to be back soon. And, she was just plain tired. This getting shot business was pretty awful.

_Any ideas on what I can do?_ She thought quietly at God. She could feel Him near, but He didn't reply, seemingly letting her know that she could do whatever she wanted.

Joy sighed, picking up the pink, stuffed kitten she had sitting next to her on the bed. She stared at it, slowly appreciating the intricacies of the fake, white whiskers, the soft, pink fur, complete with dark pink stripes, the beautiful, cool-blue glass eyes, and large, raspberry-colored satin bow around its neck. As she stared at it, she realized that the kitten had eyes the same color as G Callen's. She smiled to herself. The blue was exactly the hue she remembered his eyes being. Suddenly, it hit her that the kitten's expressionless look closely resembled the serious look G Callen kept on his face; the one he would wear when he wasn't joking. She let out a surprised happy sound. It was too perfect and too funny that the gift he had given her had any likeness of him in it. She quickly looked over the stuffed animal again, wondering if there were any more similarities between the kitten and G Callen. She couldn't find any more, but that didn't wipe the happiness off her face. She was simply delighted with her discovery.

"Well." Joy said quietly, talking to God as she held the kitten and petted its head. "I guess we should name this little one… It's a pity I think of it as a she, otherwise I could name it Callen…" Joy grinned as she was almost positive that God let out a short laugh. She held the kitten in one hand, raising an eyebrow at it. "Really? You don't think G Callen would like a pink kitten being named after him?"

_**I'm thinking no.**_

"Well, I think he'd laugh."

_**I'm the One laughing, Joy.**_

"Yeah, I hear that… It's a she anyway, so he won't ever know about that, right?"

_**Not from Me.**_

"So, what do I name her?"

He didn't respond, so Joy assumed He was letting her choose again. She worked through all the names that she liked. Thinking about color-specific names, both in English and Spanish, she went through her lists and took note whenever she found a name that worked. She didn't want the kitten to just have one name, so she worked on it until she was pleased with the entire feel of the long name.

She picked up her cell phone, ignoring the pain levels that were rising, and began texting Callen.

_Thought I shld tell u I finally figured out a name 4 the pink kitty u gave me… Rosalee Ann Trinity Fluff-N-Tuff. Last name is in honor of u. (:_

She sent the text and smiled at the phone before putting it down. Even if he didn't respond, she was glad that she had made the effort to let him know that she liked his gift enough to name it.

* * *

The next day was a painful one for Joy. There were antibiotic shots that were needed for her injured shoulder, as well as poking and prodding required to check its healing. She kept Rosalee nearby for everything. And when tears escaped, she would squeeze the pink kitty close and bury her face in its fur. It was nearly evening before she felt like smiling, finally resting underneath the drug's workings in her system.

Hours after her Grandmother had fallen asleep in the small recliner, Joy found herself staring at the barely-lit walls and wondering where her father was and when he would call. She was concerned that her father would panic. He was in another country, and no doubt he would be frantic until he was able to get back to Los Angeles. Joy knew her father would drop all of his work to get to her. He would probably beat himself up for not staying with her to protect her. She exhaled softly. He would baby her and not let her out of his sight for a long, long time. That's how this would go. And she would be sick of it.

Blinking tiredly, she thought of the man she had saved again, and how all those in his office seemed to be so worried about him. Kensi… Nate… That little boss lady—what was her name? That computer guy… Was his name Eric? And, of course, Sam. The one who she had been sent to in the first place. Agent Sam. He had looked so exhausted the last time she had seen him. Nate had informed her that Sam had watched over her until she was safely out of surgery that night. She didn't remember any of it, but she believed it. Sam was a protector. He reminded her a little of her best friend's really big, really tough, protector-dog, Max.

For a moment, Joy wished she could text Sam and tell him she was grateful for all he had done. Especially that he had believed her. Joy's heartbeat sped up a small bit as she thought through what would have happened if she _hadn't_ done as God had told her. What if she _hadn't_ gotten to Sam when she had? What if she had quit listening on the bus? What if she had gotten afraid when she saw how big Sam was and left? What if Sam _hadn't_ believed her? What if G had died?

Tears pushed at Joy's eyes. She looked down at the stuffed kitty. Rosalee Ann Trinity Fluff-N-Tuff. Last name in honor of Callen. She petted its head silently. The soft fur was proof that he was still alive. G Callen's gift to her. She realized then that he probably hadn't understood why the last name had reminded her of him. She had completely forgotten to explain it to him!

Before she knew what she was doing, she was pulling out her phone and writing a text, trying not to wake up her Grandmother with her keystrokes.

_I 4got to explain y the name "Fluff-N-Tuff" reminds me of u. "Tuff" is how most pple c u. "Fluff" is how u r rlly, b/c ur rlly kind._

Joy sent the text to G Callen wondering why she was texting him so late at night. What would he think?

She swallowed and put her phone down. _Is he even getting my texts?_

_**Don't worry about it.**_

Joy tried to sleep.

* * *

The next day, around eight in the morning, Joy got a text message from a number she didn't recognize.

_Hey Joy this is Sam, this is G's new number. Your texts make him smile. Keep it up!_

Joy had to work hard not to make any excited noises. She just closed her eyes and smiled, clutching her phone. She was grateful that Sam was making sure that she could still have access to G Callen. And further, Sam's text showed her that hers _had_ gone through. She was elated.

That day, dealing with nurses, antibiotics, checkups, and wound cleanings didn't seem so bad. She had an updated number for G Callen in her cell phone. She was happy.

* * *

The next day, really early, Joy was awake and in a good mood. She asked her Grandmother to start some of her favorite morning music. Since her Grandmother had bought iPod speakers before, she turned the music on and smiled as Joy quietly sang along with Kari Jobe.

During the singing, Joy found herself wanting to share her enthusiasm for the day. She started texting all of her friends and waking them up cheerfully. Eventually, she grinned mischievously to herself and sent a quick text to G. Callen:

_Good morning! Just wanted 2 wish u a good day of work! ~Joy_

She put her name on the end just in case he didn't recognize her number on his new phone.

Whenever six-forty-five in the morning rolled around, several of her friends started texting her back. Joy caught her Grandmother shaking her head at her as she texted madly with one hand. Joy summed it up to her Grandmother not understanding how she did it.

"It's an acquired skill." Joy told her Grandmother quietly.

Her Grandmother just let out a soft laugh.

* * *

The next day, Joy was thrilled to find out that she would be released from the hospital in three days if she continued to heal properly. She was also excited to get to talk to her father on the phone. The news had finally gotten to him. She was right about his reaction: he was worried sick, angry that he hadn't been there to prevent her getting shot, and frustrated that she had been so far from home so late at night, art show or not. He was only upset for a little while, though, and was saying over and over how much he loved her and he would be home soon and he was praying for her and, well, he loved her and he was so glad she was alive.

Whenever her Grandmother stepped out to talk to the doctors in charge of her care, probably wanting to scold them for taking so long to check up on Joy, the teenager pulled out her phone and sent a text to G Callen, feeling like he needed to know that she was getting better.

_Rosalee & I get to go home in 3 days! Oh, they finally reached my dad. He will b home soon. Hope ur doing good._

* * *

Joy gave G Callen some air for five days. She was too busy getting healed, dealing with guests, and returning home. It was a flurry of activity that was smoothed together by the drugs the doctors still had her on.

When she finally found herself alone on her livingroom couch, her father leaving her alone for longer than ten minutes, she let out a sigh. She realized that she had been either following directions or assuring her father she was fine for the last two days. She hadn't been allowed to do too much since she'd been brought home. Her father had even gone so far to ban her friends from the house until he felt she was up to it. It was beginning to get really annoying, but she knew he was doing it out of love. She couldn't find it within herself to be angry, because she loved him, too. She was glad that she was still alive for him to take care of her.

A pang of pain shot through her shoulder and with it, she heard the gunshots in her head. She winced, holding back her whimper, hugging herself with her uninjured arm. Her heart raced as the flashback of the moment she got shot played through and quickly ended. As soon as it stopped, Joy quit holding her breath and wiped away the one tear that had escaped. Of this whole healing thing, the flashbacks were the worst. She worried how she would deal with them once they took her off of the medications that kept her numb.

"Ugh." She muttered under her breath. She hoped she had stayed silent enough to not alert her father who was cooking in the kitchen. He knew about the flashbacks, but he wasn't able to help them go away anymore than she could wish them away. Joy didn't want to bother him with them anymore. At least, if she could help it.

Joy didn't want to think about it anymore. She looked down to the blankets at her feet on the couch. Rosalee was there, staring at her with that look. Joy smiled. She picked up her phone from beside her. She texted G Callen:

_I'm home finally. Dad & Grandma r ruling my world n making me stay still. So bored! Hope I'm not bothering u... Take care n hope 2 hear from u soon._

That night, while she watched the latest action movie with her father, who had fallen asleep in his recliner, her phone received a text message. When she looked at the screen, her heart nearly stopped. G had replied!

_Don't text me anymore. Easy to trace. If you need to talk to me call. Don't store my number with my name._

Joy pulled back from the phone, hurt. She processed what his meaning was several times, explosions from the movie echoing in her ears. Each time she read the text, she came up with that he was pushing her away. But then, she realized she was wrong. He did want to stay in touch with her. He said _if you need to talk to me call._ It was an open invitation, provided she needed him. He was being safe. Texts were easier to trace. Don't use his name…

She opened up his contact information in her cell phone. She had him there by his first name. That needed to be stealthier. She had lots of nicknames for all of her friends. She just needed to get a perfect one for the Agent. Joy thought hard for a few minutes. She couldn't think of anything that really showed his personality. She stared up at the livingroom's ceiling, watching the television light dancing off of it. _Help?_

_**What do you want from him, Joy?**_ God's gentle voice asked.

The question paused Joy's thoughts. It was a good question. And, after a few seconds, she had her answer: _I just want him to respond to me. I don't want for him to disappear from my life yet. Can we be friends? Or, am I crazy?_

Joy hugged herself with her uninjured arm. Maybe she was crazy. He was a secret agent and she was a kid who had saved his life. Maybe she was supposed to let him go.

She felt God hug her, being comforting. He whispered, _**You want back-and-forth conversation.**_ _**That's healthy for you both.**_

Whenever He said "back-and-forth," Joy saw in her mind a tennis match. A small smile came across her lips. That was it. She just wanted G Callen to return the ball she had served. _Got it._ She thought triumphantly.

She worked to edit "G" in her cell phone. In the letter's place, she typed in "Rally".

* * *

The next day, by noon, Joy had talked herself into thinking that letting the Agent know that she had nicknamed him warranted "needing" to talk to him. She decided to call him, scared out of her mind that he will brush her off. Or, worse, get upset at her childish reason for calling. She waited until her father left to fix them lunch. Since she had already been speaking with friends on her cell phone, her father would probably think she was talking to another when he heard her voice. Since it was a Saturday, Joy wondered if G Callen would be at work or off. Would he answer his phone or just leave it?

Joy dialed his number, concluding that if he didn't answer, she would not be offended.

She was surprised when he answered after the second ring. His voice sounding a bit happier than the last time she had spoken with him at the hospital.

"Hey."He said as his greeting, his voice indicating that he knew exactly who she was. In the background, she could hear outdoor sounds.

"Hi!" She replied, not hiding that she was pleased that he answered his phone. "Are you busy, or do you have a sec?"

"Not busy." Callen said. "Just shopping. And walking."

Joy blinked, surprised that he was actually not being weird, and was speaking to her. "Um, well, I just wanted to let you know I nicknamed you."

"Really?" He sounded curious.

Joy smiled, "Yep. 'Rally.' What do you think?"

He paused for a few moments, then asked, "Like the video game?"

"No, like the tennis term."

G Callen quipped back, "And that's the best you could do?"

"You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that."

Joy hesitated, then told him, "Yeah. Best I could do."

"Hmm." Callen asked, "So… Is that how you have me in your phone?"

"Yes, _Rally._" Joy replied in playing tone.

"I guess it sounds cool…"

"Because you are…" Joy added.

She could almost hear the Agent smile over the phone. "Well, I'm sorry, but I haven't thought up one for you yet."

"I figured." Joy told him truthfully.

"Really?" He asked, sounding a touch surprised.

Joy nodded to herself, saying, "Yep. You're busy a lot." She was silent for a moment, then offered, "Want me to think one up for you?"

"Knock yourself out."

"'Kay." A thought occurred to Joy that he'd known that she was the one calling him. He most likely already had her saved in his phone. "Um, wait… How do you have me in your phone right now?"

He hesitated for a moment and then told her, "That's classified." His voice indicated that he had been caught.

"It's something stupid, isn't it?"

"It's for safety reasons, and safety is never stupid."

"Riiiiight." Joy drew out, narrowing her eyes playfully. Adults were so weird. "I'll call you back with redemption tomorrow. Tell Sam I said 'hi'."

"Maybe." G replied simply.

Joy play-gasped, not being able to resist telling him, "Wow, you told me the truth! There's hope for this friendship yet."

"Hey, I have NEVER lied to you." He said, seriously.

"You didn't tell me you were changing numbers."

"That's because I knew Sam would tell you."

"Lies." Joy said, a small giggle slipping.

G exhaled. "_Goodbye_, Joy."

"Goodbye, Rally."

And only God saw that at the exact same time, both Joy and G hung up their cell phones and smirked.

...To Be Continued in "Pure Agony"...


End file.
